The World Entire: Volume One: Cataclysm
by Creedog VanDrey
Summary: A series of stories about the Exposed Future from "I Have Become Death." Follow in the lives of all your favorite characters. A continuation of my other story "My Firefly."
1. The Child in My Dreams

The World Entire, Chapter 1  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: A day is coming when the world will crack in two, but until that day comes, life goes on.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: So, I'm calling this a sequel to "My Firefly", though that hardly describes it. While "Firefly" was romantic, this will be straight Mystery/Action-Adventure. It will feature the entire cast rather than mostly focusing on Sylar and Elle. And, temporally speaking, it's not just a sequel (takes place after); it's also a prequel (taking place before), a midquel (taking place within), and synquel (taking place during) the events of "My Firefly."

Recap if you don't want to read the Syelle romance "My Firefly": Shortly after she's summarily exiled by Angela, Elle comes back to take her revenge on Sylar, who trying to redeem himself. With the help of Claire's power, he survives a number of electrocutions, and the two of them fall in love in a vaguely sadomasochistic way. Elle then gets preggers. They get married. They have little Noah. Gabriel's Mr. Mom. Elle's a Company agent. Angela is large and in charge. Arthur runs rival company Pinehearst. Noah and Sandra are dead. And here's the rest of the story.

: : :

Chapter 1: The Child in My Dreams

_The Talmud tells us: "Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world." But what is to be done when the entire world really is in danger? Is it enough to save one life only to damn it when the ultimate tragedy cannot be averted? Too many lives hang in the balance, but perhaps, the greater tragedy would be that people stop saving the one when they try to save the many. _

: : :

Angela and Maury  
Maury Parkman's Apartment  
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania  
1989

Maury's first thought when Angela Petrelli came to see him was that he was in trouble. The organization that he and the Petrellis, among others, had founded in secret twelve years ago was beginning to crack. Lines were being drawn. Linderman was growing powerful in his business interests. Carlos was absentee half the time. Angela and Arthur seemed to be the impetus of a possible schism of the group. Kaito and Bob seemed to be following her lead with absolute loyalty to the company. Arthur's head was filling with radical plans that made the others fearful. Idealistic Charles showed signs of disentangling himself from the group.

"Maury, I need some assistance."

Maury remained frozen, eyes wide, his mouth open like a fish.

"Maury, relax. You're not in trouble. This is just a personal favor."

Partially at ease, he replied, "Alright, Angela, what can I do for you?"

"I had an unusual dream."

"One of your precog dreams?"

"Of course one of my precog dreams. Why would I fly to Philly to discuss a normal dream with you," she snapped.

Maury visible retreated.

"Maury, my apologies. I dreamt about a small child. I need to see the face again."

Maury, relieved at the task, began searching Angela's mind. "What's so important about this child?"

"It's my grandchild. Very special."

"Here," he made the figure of a child appear before Angela's eyes, "this one?"

"That's the one. Could you implant that in my permanent memory?"

"Easily." After a moment of squinting, he relaxed, "Anything else I can do for you?"

"When's the last time you saw Carlos?"

Maury smiled. "Too long."

"Well, let's take a trip."

: : :

Angela  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California  
2011

Meredith and a Hispanic man by the name of Victor Abano entered Angela's office at Primatech Research.

Angela looked and smiled falsely, "Ah, Meredith, Vic, so good to see you. How was your trip?"

"Long," answered Abano.

"Well, I have one favor to ask. Two hazmat workers were attacked during the investigation into the Costa Verde explosion. It seems it was a special. We need you to investigate."

Meredith's mouth dropped open. After a moment to collect her thoughts, she asked, "Are you asking us to go into ground zero of a nuclear fallout zone?"

"We just need you to apprehend a target and bring him back. If you're worried about radiation poisoning, we'll have two units of natural regenerator blood waiting for you when you get back."

Abano commented, "There aren't a lot of roads into Costa Verde anymore. We're gonna need a truck."

Angela dismissed her agents. After the door closed, she walked to the bookshelf, where she pulled out a large piece of canvas. As if she were speaking to it, she said, "It's time."

: : :

A/N: As _Heroes_ is apt to do, I will be telling this story as slowly as possible.

Started 10/28/2008. Finished 11/1/2008.


	2. The Face in My Mind

The World Entire, Chapter 2  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Ten years ago, Angela takes Maury on a trip. Matt watches his wife die.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: So, I went on a ficcing binge, so I have seven chapters brainstorm-written. My biggest fear is running out of steam. I mention this because I want to let you know I'm not promising you any number of chapters. I'll just keep writing while it's fun.

But, just so you know, I'm a review _addict_. If you ask for more, I go to bed at nights planning fics. It's a compulsion.

: : :

Chapter 2: The Face in My Mind

_The Christian Gospels are filled with the stories of a man named Jesus of Nazareth, who performed a great many miracles. Perhaps most wondrous of all were his miracles of healing. He gave sight to the blind. He made the lame walk. He cast out demons. And he raised a man from the dead. Is this not enough to tell us that life is precious? That the human body, so complex and mysterious, is likely our most valued possession? And what about the soul? More than for healing the body, Jesus is credited for saving the soul. And what exactly is the separation between the two, if any at all? _

: : :

Matt, Daphne, Molly, and Daniella  
The Parkmans' Apartment  
Brooklyn, New York  
2011

She was standing there a little shakily, but smiling. "I wasn't fast enough." And then she was on the ground just outside the apartment.

Matt held her, feeling the deep burns on her back. "No," he whispered.

Molly ran over and set Daniella down, who began crying immediately. "Mom…?"

"Watch your sister," Matt commanded as he rushed back into the apartment. While Molly tried in earnest to calm her baby sister, Matt raised a ruckus from the back from the back of the apartment.

Bouncing the inconsolable Daniella on her leg, Molly pleaded with tearing eyes to the still form of her adoptive mother. "Mom, y-you gotta come back. You can't be dead," she gasped, searching for her mother's soul and finding the connection getting weaker. "Look, I promise I'll stop calling you Daphne when I'm mad at you or world or whatever. Or, c'mon, I'll, uh, I'll call you whatever you want, Mom." She took a moment to sniffle, but continued, "I know you feel weird when I call you 'Mom' even though you say you don't. And I'll stop yelling that you're not my real mom, I swear. Shh, Daniella, please. I'll be a good daughter. I'll be a good daughter." Her voice cracked and ceased. Daniella bawled louder.

Matt finally scrambled back to his wife's body. "Molly, get back. Be careful with your sister!" he bellowed. Molly kissed Daniella on the head and continued to bounce her to no avail. Tears streamed down Molly's face. Daniella screeched in her sister's arms, demanding to be returned to her Mommy.

Matt felt under his wife's breast. "No heartbeat," he said to himself, "Okay, then…" He arranged his wife's body so that she was lying on her damaged back and he pushed up on her chin, ignoring the cold, lifeless eyes looking distantly into space. Holding his finger against the stagnant jugular vein, he pulled a syringe filled with red liquid out of his pocket. He carefully inserted the needle into the vein and pushed hard on the plunger.

After a second her eyelids blinked. Once. "Did she blink?" Matt asked to himself, to Molly, to the universe, to God.

"She blinked," Molly replied immediately.

Her left finger twitched. Molly pointed that out. She moved Daniella, still crying, to the other hip and tried rubbing her back.

Matt dared smile and held his wife. Her eyes closed. She didn't move. Matt's smile disappeared and he laid her back down.

"She's breathing!" Molly cried.

Matt felt for his wife's heartbeat again: faint but regular. Her chest rose, paused for an excruciatingly long time, and fell.

"Is she alive?" The words barely escaped Molly's lips.

"Can you sense her?" Matt asked.

Molly nodded and luckily kept nodding until Matt turned his head.

"Is she asleep?" Molly asked, feeling stupid.

"She's… she might be in a coma."

"Was the blood bad?"

"It shouldn't have been. It's from your mom's boss and she's a natural. It was refrigerated and less than six months old. I don't get it. Maybe we weren't fast enough."

He cradles his wife's neck and picked her up. Below her ruined jacket, he saw his wife's smooth, flawless back.

"I don't get it…" he whispered. Molly swung around Daniella, who ceased crying but continued grimacing in fear.

: : :

Angela and Maury  
Carlos Mendez's Apartment  
Brooklyn, New York  
1989

The first thing Carlos did on opening the door was grab Maury in a tight hug.

"Maury Parkman, what are you doing here?"

"Angela and I thought we owed you a visit."

Carlos's smile was wide. "Just tell me it's not business."

Angela answered, "No, it's more of a personal visit."

Carlos kissed her hand. "Well, that's my favorite type. Welcome to my humble abode, Mrs. Petrelli." He turned his head and called down the hall, "Issac, son, come say hello to some of my oldest friends!"

Carlos's 11-year-old son walked in shyly. He looked up at the familiar adults. "Hello, Mrs. Petrelli, Mr. Parkman. How are you?" he asked dutifully. They courteously replied that they were fine. He asked about their sons. He'd met them at a get-together. Both had college-age sons and Mrs. Petrelli also had a son his age.

With a sidelong look at Maury, Angela knelt down, "So, Isaac, tell me, do you still like to draw?"

He just nodded and replied dutifully, "Yes, ma'am."

Carlos jumped in with paternal pride. "My boy's an incredible sketcher. Go get some of your work."

"Dad," he complained.

"Tell me, young man," Angela spoke, "do you take commissions?"

"You mean like… you pay me to draw you something?"

"Exactly. Whatever you feel inspired to draw."

"How much?" Isaac asked, excitedly.

"Isaac," Carlos chastised.

"I'm sorry," his son mumbled.

"Not at all. If you're going to be an artist, you've got to learn to take pride in your work. I'm going to visit with your father. Come to me when you're finished."

Isaac scampered off to his room.

Inside Angela's head, she hear Maury's voice: _I implanted the image._

"Angela, you didn't have to do that," Carlos mentioned.

"Carlos, some day your son is going to be a very talented artist. I wanted to get him started out right."

"I hope you're not manipulating my son because of one of your dreams."

"One does not have to be precognitive to see raw talent."

"I wish you wouldn't inject business into personal relationships."

"I'm married to a lawyer."

"One of these days that excuse is not going to cut it, Angie. So, I hear Nathan is considering following in his father's footsteps…"

: : :

A/N: Tell me your honest opinion. Are these at all engaging? I ask this because I'd be more than willing to let them simmer a day or so if they're hard to follow. Much like Volume 1, things are going to start out slow until I get everything in place, after which it'll pick up. I just don't want to bore my readers before they leave the gate.

Started 10/28/2008. Finished 11/3/2008.


	3. The Blood Between Us

The World Entire, Chapter 3  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Meredith and Vic face down their target. Angela discovers the identity of her mystery child. Claire finds her father in the aftermath of hunger-plagued Peter.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: It's times like these when I need TV promos to drum up excitement, because this is supposed to be one of those shocker episodes. Oh well.

: : :

Chapter 3: The Blood Between Us

_Blood is life. Every religion has its ties to blood. The Aztecs performed human sacrifices as a tribute to the sun god Huitzilopochtli. Germanic pagan tribes performed _Blóts_, sacrifices of blood. It is expressly forbidden to be consumed in Jewish and Islamic law. Christians believe that wine becomes the blood of Christ. The vampire myths all speak of the drinking of blood to attain immortality. Is it any surprise that we call the act of murder "shedding blood"? Or that we call our family "our blood"? _

: : :

Claire Bennet  
Pinehearst Medical Facility  
Fort Lee, New Jersey  
2011

Claire tapped her foot impatiently. She did not like leaving her father alone in a room with a terrorist.

"Something's going on in there. Break down the door," Claire ordered.

One of Nathan's burly Secret Service agents approached the metal door. He tapped it three times, listening carefully, and slammed his fist into the door, sending it flying clear across the morgue.

Claire ran in and saw her father, the President of the United States, on the ground with his head split open. The name "Sylar" was spoken.

Claire replied coolly, "No, it was Peter. He went after Sylar's ability and he seems to have gotten it." She pressed her finger on Nathan's neck. "He's not gone yet." She briskly stripped off her leather jacket, leaving her only in her tight leather vest. She held out her arm palm up, made a fist, and began searching for a vein.

She turned her head and scowled, "Can you meatheads stop ogling me and get me a syringe? And will someone escort the Haitian out before he kills the President?" The dark-skinned man bowed his head and stepped out of the room.

She had the needle in her hand within moments. She muttered to herself, "Idiot thinks he can kill the President with his regenerating daughter just outside the door in a hospital of all places." She withdrew some blood without wincing and carefully injected it into her father's jugular vein.

She'd already lost one father to this godforsaken war and she didn't intend to lose the other.

He sat up abruptly, sucking in breath. Claire stared down at him unaffected. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Dad."

Nathan gasped, "Peter from the past has Gabriel's power. He…"

"We know. C'mon, we've got a war to fight."

: : :

Angela, Kaito, and Victoria  
Primatech Biological Research Division  
Hartsdale, New York  
2001

Kaito Nakamura stared down at the stack of papers before him. "Could you not have boiled it down a little more?" he asked.

Victoria Pratt rolled her eyes. "You said you needed all the details of phenotypic inheritance in abbreviated form. Could you boil down the corpus of _investment banking_ into a ten-page report?"

"Point is taken," muttered Kaito. "Alright, Angela, what is it that you are wanting from us?"

Angela put an 11-by-17 color sketch in front of him. "Who are this child's parents?"

Victoria laughed aloud. "Angela, it doesn't work like that. There are too many variables and what a person looks like a tiny fraction of his genetic makeup."

"Kaito's here for the variables."

The man shook his head. "Angela, Victoria is correct. I cannot determine this child's parentage based on a sketch alone. I have the method but not the data."

"I'll make it easier then." She dropped several folders on the desk before him. "I saw that child in a vision. One of my sons is the father. Can you tell me who the mother is? I know this child will have an ability. A very powerful ability. Powers beyond death. There are my son's medical files and I want to know which one is the father."

Kaito scanned the documents, "The child is… will be, I suppose, 95 centimeters at age 3."

"That's the median," Victoria commented.

Kaito scribble on the paper. "If the father is Nathan, this is what I can guess about the mother. She will have 160 to 163 centimeters height. She will most certainly be blond. And she will almost certainly have powers, especially if the child is as powerful as you suggest." He paused.

"Go on. It's not Heidi's. I understand. What about Peter?"

"Again," he stated, "she'll be blond. A child that age with that kind of coloring would not have a brunette mother unless she had several close blond relatives. This mother will have 163 to 168 centimeters in height. Probably powered, but not necessarily. If you suspect Peter takes after Arthur…"

Angela seemed perplexed.

"Angela, if I might say so…" he paused to allow Angela to nod, "I think it's quite clear that this child is Nathan's illegitimate daughter by the fire-maker… who is definitely within these parameters…"

Angela just shook her head.

: : :

Meredith and Vic  
Costa Verde, California  
2011

The area that was once a beautiful suburb was now miles of steaming rock. Meredith drove the large Ford Explorer while Vic sat in the passenger seat, fiddling with a GPS unit.

"Why don't you ever let me drive?" Vic inquired.

Meredith quickly responded, "Because apparently have no comprehension of what you're supposed to do at yellow lights. Also, you love to play with the gadgets. I on the other hand, get frustrated with them, and tend to experience fire damage as a result. It's a mutual beneficial arrangement. So, are we close?"

"Another eighth of a mile ahead is where the attack occurred. We're driving on what used to be a road. Or twenty feet below should I say."

Meredith looked over at the device. The coordinates seemed familiar. "That thing have employee residences in it?"

Abano played with the display, "I don't believe it. Well, if you were going to have a strange attack by a special, it _would_ be at ground zero."

"Abano, you better check this out."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Sometimes this job is so weird."

: : :

Angela, Kaito, and Victoria  
Primatech Biological Research Division  
Hartsdale, New York  
2001

"Nathan had a _daughter_ with the Gordon girl. This is a boy," she commented, pointing at the canvas.

Kaito responded, "Angela, you know that by even having visions of the future allows them to be changed. There's a 50% chance the child could have changed genders by random coincidence. Didn't the girl survive a house fire?"

Ignoring the question, Angela pulled another file out of the bag. "What about this?"

Kaito opened the file and he head jerked toward Angela, "You must be joking." Angela just gave him a stern look. "He's… 188 centimeters, so the mother would have to be… _maybe_ one-fifty-seven. I'd bet less. He has dark hair; she'd have to be blond…"

: : :

Meredith and Vic  
Costa Verde, California  
2011

"What is he? A midget?" Abano held out his weapon as he approached the figure. The area was blanketed with a hazy fog as steam filtered out from the ground. Both Abano and his partner wore gas masks.

"That, or a child. Regardless, assume he's dangerous." Flames crackled around her hands.

Stating the obvious, Abano noted that the special was screaming. He added, "No indicating of outward-manifesting ability. Fire, radiation, lightning. They say he nearly broke a couple of men in half. We might be looking at a strongman. Suppose it's Knox, mutated?"

Meredith had to laugh at that. "Doubtful."

Abano froze. He caught the eye of his target and suddenly found himself without cover.

Suddenly, the target, a human, three feet tall, with dirty skin and hair, looked up at them and screamed. He raced towards them, thrashing.

Abano took careful aim and shot at the leg. The bullet exploded into fragments on contact. Meredith sent a large stream of fire at the figure, which did not as much as slow down. The two dove in opposite directions and the child-like figure stopped between them. He looked between them, shaking like a leaf.

Meredith picked up her gas mask and held it to her face. She alit her hand and stared at the target, who she recognized.

"Miss Meredith?" he asked.

: : :

Angela, Kaito, and Victoria  
Primatech Biological Research Division  
Hartsdale, New York  
2001

Kaito hurriedly moved to the computer and started typing. "I am querying our database of evolved humans." The computer returned two lines. He cross-referenced the ID numbers and brought up two windows.

"One of these women could be the mother. They fit inside the parameters. Our database is by no means comprehensive but…"

Angela pointed at the screen. "It's not her. I've dreamt her destiny and it's not with my son. But her…?"

Kaito grinned. "It's possible, I guess. Don't let Bob know. He's pretty possessive, besides…" His face dropped as he began to scribble on a sheet of paper. "_Shinjirarenai_, you're right; if these two were to mate, their child… he would be a resurrector."

: : :

Meredith  
Costa Verde, California  
2011

Meredith looked at the child. "Noah?" She turned to her partner and yelled, "Don't shoot. It's Noah Gray. It's Angela's grandson!"

: : :

A/N: Is this at all engaging? Because I might let these chapters simmer and develop a little bit if they're unreadable. I had the same problem with Season 1. It started out so slow, and I lost interest, but when I found out all the cool twists, I pushed through it. I don't want to lose my audience before I get the scene-setting done.

Started 10/28/2008. Finished 10/4/2008.


	4. Second Chances

The World Entire, Chapter 4  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Matt gets a job offer. Meredith brings Noah back to Primatech.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: I'm kind of working at a frantic pace trying to get as many chapters before next Monday's episode injects new ideas into my brain. While it does inspire new insights and twists for further chapters, it might potentially weather away some of my original plans.

: : :

Chapter 4: Second Chances

"_Worn-out garments are shed by the body; Worn-out bodies are shed by the dweller within the body. New bodies are donned by the dweller, like garments." These are the words of the Bhagavad Gita about reincarnation. Reincarnation is hardly unique to Hinduism. Perhaps the beliefs echo our lives. Every day gives us a new opportunity to become a new person, for better or for worse. We can strip off the garments of hatred and revenge, tattered with overuse, and put on instead clothes of mercy and selflessness. Will we then become gods, as karmic rewards for our devotion to goodness? But why then take us away from the struggles of the world when we are at that point best suited to correct them? _

: : :

Matt Parkman  
Parkmans' Apartment  
Brooklyn, New York  
2011

Matt thought he must have been seeing things when he looked through the peephole. Just to double-check, he tried to read the mind of the person on the other side of the door. White noise flooded his mind.

"Well, that's a confirmation if I ever felt one." He opened the door to see Nathan Petrelli flanked by several agents, including a familiar bald-headed Haitian.

"I felt you, Parkman," he spoke, in his thick Caribbean accent, "good instincts, though." Several agents turned to the Haitian, mouths agape at his powers of speech.

Matt turned to Nathan, "Mr. President."

Nathan smiled and turned to another guard, who took a breath and appeared to start yelling, though no sound came out.

"Ultrasonic white noise; we can talk privately," Nathan explained. "And, please, Matt, no need to be so formal. 'Mr. President'. You rode me once." After an awkward pause, he added, "We'll pretend I didn't say that. It's kind of why I keep this guy around."

"What can I do for you, Nathan?" Matt asked, holding the door close.

"There's no good way of asking this. Is Daphne all right?"

Matt's mood soured, "Why do you care?"

"She was a valued employee. She kept her humanity somehow while working at Pinehearst." Nathan held up an opened envelope. She turned in this letter of resignation. I'm betting 'to spend more time with my family' wasn't just a cliché."

Almost answering him, Daniella began crying.

Nathan continued, "You've got a family, including a new kid. I get that. I know Daphne was with Claire when they went to capture Peter in Costa Verde. It is my hope that she was able to escape in time."

"Barely."

"That's good."

"I said 'barely.' She had lethal radiation burns."

With some urgency, Nathan offered, "We brought blood. It's Claire's. Best there is. I'm living proof." He tapped his head to show off a bandage on his forehead.

"I already gave Daphne some. She's… in a coma, I think."

"My condolences."

"Thank you," Matt spat harshly and began to close the door.

Nathan blocked the move. He floated a few inches off the floor to get some height on Matt. "Matt, I hope you remember than I didn't get into this office because of hollow campaign promises. I was thrust into office because people like us… _bad_ people with powers like ours slaughtered my predecessor and most of his Cabinet. Governor Malden told the world that since I was one of them, I could protect us, find a solution." He pointed at Matt. "You came to my office and told me what you'd seen in Africa, and it has been my mission since then to keep that tragedy from happening. Now, I'm asking you, friend to friend, can I get your help?"

"Nathan, my wife is on the brink of death…"

"I have access to the best medical facilities in the world."

"My daughters…"

"I'm a father, too, Matt. Pinehearst has an elite academic program with protection for powered children. I can have Molly enrolled tomorrow, tuition waived. And they have an exception daycare center for the little one."

Matt, visibly calmed, added, "I have a turtle."

Nathan grinned. "I will have a first-class terrarium in your office tomorrow."

Matt smiled. "So, what do you need from me?"

"I want you to take up your wife's post. Pinehearst needs a few good men. You've worked for two of the best police departments in the country. Your experience is unparalleled with these types of situations."

"You mean Claire's team?"

"She asked for you specifically. I volunteered to recruit you myself."

Matt pondered that. "I do have a family to support. Count me in." Matt extended his hand. Nathan took it and they shook hands purposefully.

: : :

Arthur and Paula  
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania  
1977

"I hope this works," Arthur commented to the black woman beside him, as he looked up and down the halls of the rundown apartment complex.

"Mr. Petrelli, as I've told you before, things that happen to me, they happen for a reason. When I jumped off the Michigan Avenue Bridge, I was looking for a purpose. I was tired of the queer coincidences dictating my life. I would have died had Mr. Linderman not been sightseeing. You want me to tell you the chances?"

"I already had a friend run them for me. Said it would take several days just to write down all the zeroes. It's just a hard ability to wrap your head around."

"I make my own luck now."

The door opened and a podgy, dark-haired man opened the door. He looked at the odd couple before him: a white man and a black woman. While down the street, two people like these might still refuse to be in the same restaurant together. "Can I help you?"

Arthur extended his hand, "Hello, my name is Arthur Petrelli, and this is my associate Paula Gramble." Maury shook Arthur's hand and did the same with Paula a bit more warily.

"What can I do for you?" Maury asked Arthur.

"We're looking for a few talented people to start a rather prestigious organization."

"You must have the wrong apartment. I'm just a cable repairman. Divorced and raising a kid."

"Listen, Mr. … I don't believe I caught your name."

"Parkman." He paused at his mistake, "But I didn't give you my name."

"No, you didn't. Mr. Parkman, is there any chance that you have… an ability?"

Maury eyed Arthur with suspicion, answering, "Well, I'm a pretty damn good cable repairman."

"I think we both know you mean something else."

"How did you find me?" He lowered his eyebrows. Arthur held his head and grabbed a hold of Maury hand. Suddenly both jumped back.

"What did you do to me?!" Maury screamed.

"I leeched off a bit of your power. You're a telepath, it seems. It would appear that it's it's problematic having two telepaths try to read one another at the same time. We'll have to study that."

"How did you find me?"

Arthur gestured toward Paula. "She's the reason we found you. She threw a couple of dice and a handful of Scrabble tiles and it gave us your address."

Maury looked on in disbelief. "What do you want from me?"

"Mr. Parkman, we're forming an organization of people like us. We'd like for you to be part of it. Your talents could be of use."

A small, dark-haired, 9-year-old boy walked up. "Dad? What's going on?"

"Hey, these are some friends of your Dad. Go to your room and get some homework done. Wha'cha you got tonight, Buddy?"

"Stupid book report," the boy replied, frowning.

"Great! I'll come by to help you with that."

The boy walked back to his room.

"Please, guys, I'm just a normal guy who can read minds. I can't help with any big organization. I can barely afford to get my kid a reading tutor."

"Mr. Parkman. I'm a rather well-respected lawyer in New York. I assure you will be generously compensated for work that you perform for us. But this is not just a job; it's a chance to be part of a new world order."

Maury stepped back to let that sink in. "When I first got these powers," he said finally, "I kept thinking people were talking to me. Saying rude stuff… _out loud_…behind my back. But then when I noticed no one's lips were moving, I freaked. But I got used to it. Sometimes it's cool. You hear really interesting stuff. Once I got a woman to look at me just by wishing it. It didn't last though."

"Mr. Parkman, we're a growing group. We all have developed abilities. Paula here's the reason for that. She subconsciously brought us all together. We're learning to harness our abilities. When I first started, it was pure accident. I got into a scuffle with one of my war buddies and suddenly my rifle skills improved. You want to know why I'm such a good lawyer? I get to shake hands with the opposing counsel before every trial. I shake hard enough, their abilities go to hell. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to expand your abilities. There's no telling. Imagine putting thoughts into people's heads. Or… creating hallucinations. Hypnotizing people. Help us find out."

"Count me in." Maury extended his hand, but pulled it away before Arthur had a chance to shake it.

"I wasn't going to. But you were smart. It doesn't help you to be _too_ trusting."

: : :

Meredith, Vic, and Noah  
Costa Verde, California  
2011

"Noah?" Meredith yelled to her partner, "Don't shoot. It's Noah Gray. It's Angela's grandson!"

Abano lowered his weapon. "Her grandson?" He quickly holstered his weapon. "Thank goodness we don't have to fill out shots fired reports," he commented.

Meredith knelt down and tried to seem unthreatening.

Abano suddenly remarked, "Wait a second? Noah? In that cast, I'm getting in the car. That thing nearly broke two men in half and survived a nuclear explosion and now I find out he's the child of _Sylar_ and _Elle Bishop_? What about this sounds safe to you?"

"Hi, Noah," Meredith spoke softly. "It's Miss Meredith. We're going to go visit Grandma at work. How does that sound?"

"Where's my Mommy?" Noah asked.

"Oh, we'll call her on the phone and she'll be _so_ happy to see you! But we can't stay here." Meredith was trying to remain upbeat as the radioactive mist took its toll on her lungs. "How 'bout you hop in the big car with Miss Meredith?" She led the young boy over to the SUV. He cracked the running board and tore a chunk out of the seat as he climbed in. He looked back at her so she threw on a happy grin.

Meredith was on her phone the moment she gunned the engine. "Angela? It's Meredith. We've captured the target. You're not going to believe who it was." Her brow furrowed as she listened to the other end of the line. "Did you know? Never mind. We'll meet you back at the office." She added firmly, "Track down your daughter-in-law."

: : :

Noah Gray  
Primatech Medical Facility  
Barstow, California

The doctor examined Noah with a very ginger touch. After showering him off, the doctor noted that his skin was sandpaper-rough, possibly as a result of the nuclear exposure.

To the side, Meredith sat in a cold, uncomfortable chair with an IV of regenerator's blood in her arm, recovering from a "debris shower." The debris shower had rinsed her in scalding hot water, taking off the upper layer of anesthetized dermis and all her hair. Once the IV had been put in, she coughed up bile and most of her damaged respiratory system. Once she was more presentable, she went in to check on Noah.

"When will I see my Mommy and Daddy?" Noah asked for maybe the hundredth time.

Meredith sighed. "Sweetie, your grandma called your Mom. I promise you that your parents are running here just as fast as they can." She groaned as the nerves in her legs regenerated. "Claire, baby, I don't know how you do this."

Just then the door opened and Angela Petrelli walked in.

"Hi, Grandma!" Noah proclaimed.

"Hello, Dear, how is Grandma's favorite boy?"

"Where's my Mommy and Daddy?"

"Oh, they'll be here soon. They were very scared for you."

"Claire came with some scary people," Noah related, "There was this man who threw a table at me and…" The toddler stopped mid-sentence. "…Then I don't 'member what happened."

"Well, you bumped your head and then your brave Daddy sent all the scary people away."

Meredith approached her boss, "Mrs. Petrelli, may I speak with you?"

With an unsettling amount of politeness, Angela agreed, "Oh course you may, Meredith. What can I do for you?"

"How did you know we'd find Noah there?"

"My grandson is very special."

"Like Claire special? He not only survived my fire and Vic's gunfire, but he obviously survived Gabriel going nuclear."

Almost dismissively, Angela added, "Oh, Meredith, you couldn't even begin to understand the extent of Noah's abilities. Noah did not just survive that explosion. He survived it after dying. Just as I expected."

Seething, Meredith replied, "'Expected'? You planned him? Did you plan Claire, too?"

"No, she was just a fortunate accident out of an unfortunate situation."

"Let me just say that I am just as pleased to not have you as my mother-in-law as you are to not have me as your daughter-in-law. So, Noah, is he one of your experiments?"

Angela, with eerie calm, replied. "No, I just knew he was coming. Waited almost twenty years for him to come along. And I made sure that nothing got in the way."

: : :

A/N: It's fun to write dialogue for Angela. She's just so chillingly manipulative and calmly deceptive.

I don't pretend to be a religion scholar. Most of the Mohinder monologues are haphazardly pieced together from quickie Wikipedia research. It is never my intent to misinterpret a religion. I'm just trying to make a fringe point so I can get to the narrative.

Started 10/29/2008. Finished 11/6/2008.


	5. Families

The World Entire, Chapter 5  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: A family reunion and Matt has a new job.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: I hope I didn't make anyone afraid by my confessions of flakiness. The next few chapters are some of my favorites, so don't even _start_ to get worried until Chapter 9 or so.

: : :

Chapter 5: Families

_Family is of sacred importance in Islam. The Prophet Mohammed declared to his followers: "Marry each other and produce new off spring so that your number may increase." The Qu'ran demands that husband and wife be equal in marriage and that the husband should treat his wife with kindness. It demands the same of parents to their children, and to children it demands respect for their parents. But what is it really that makes us love those that we share blood or affection with? Is it just biological, a by-product of evolution? Mothers of all species protect their young. Or is there more? Does God put that love in us, like a reflection of His love? Does it come from chemicals in the brain…or from the soul? This love keeps families together. Yet somehow there are forces that can tear that bond apart. Perhaps that is the greatest tragedy of our species. _

: : :

Primatech Medical Facility  
Barstow, California

Gabriel and Elle burst into the facility and immediately were at their son's side. Elle quickly hugged Noah but recoiled.

"Mommy?" Noah frowned at his mother's strange behavior.

Elle surveyed the scrapes on her arms. She knelt down. "Sorry, Baby, Mommy's just going to have to hug you with sweaters from now on."

Gabriel picked up his son, "Hey, Buddy, your ole man can take it."

"Grandma said you scared away the bad people," Noah recounted inquisitively.

Gabriel paused before nodding. "Yes, sir, I told them that they were never allowed to come back and try to scare my big man ever again."

"Angela," Elle told her mother-in-law, "thank you for calling us. I don't know what we would have done…"

Meredith interrupted, "Maybe Angela can let you know how long she's known."

"Known what, Ma?"

"She planned Noah," Meredith responded.

Elle's fingers started to spark. "'Planned'?"

Angela corrected blithely. "Foresaw. I merely _helped it along_."

Elle's hands crackled with electricity, including one stray arc which knocked out a florescent light. Wordlessly, she stomped back to her son.

Gabriel calmly and gently admonished his mother, "Ma, you really got to cut down on that kind of thing."

"You're welcome," Angela teased.

Elle paced in front of Noah, anxiously staying within a few feet of him. "Hold him," she directed her husband when he came to her side. With Noah in his arms, he followed his infuriated wife, maintaining his calm.

"Consider this my resignation," Elle said bitingly to the undaunted Angela. "Let's go home," she told her family. Gabriel stopped.

Angela regally turned to the door. "What home? Your husband rather unceremoniously turned your house… and five miles around it," she added, "into a nuclear desert. Besides, you might want a little help understanding your son."

After a half-minute of rapid, heavy breathing, Elle challenged, "Okay, what are my son's powers? Regeneration?"

"Adaptive resurrection. His body will respond to whatever danger it's put in. For example, he was conceived inside your body, Elle. Probably had his first resurrection moments after fertilization. He developed immunity to electricity. Ever wonder why he never hurt himself sticking his fingers in electrical sockets?

"The ordeal at Costa Verde probably strengthened him exponentially. Meredith, if you'd demonstrate."

Meredith shot her boss a hard look but all the same produced a sizable flame in her hand and held it out to Noah. He twisted away at first, but Meredith kindly invited him to touch it. He stuck his hand in apprehensive before pulling it out, but feeling no pain, he stuck it back into the depths of the flames. As if his hand were made of stone, it neither burned nor scorched nor reddened.

Meredith, seeing the seething Elle, soothed, "It's okay, Elle. You know I wouldn't if I didn't know it wouldn't hurt him. Take it from me, it takes a little getting used to an indestructible child."

Elle finally allowed the energy to drain from her hand. She felt her pants tear near the knee as Noah tried to get her attention. She looked down and he guiltily apologized while holding up the bottom half of her left pant leg. "It's okay, Sweetie. What do you need?"

He held out his hand, palm-out. "Can you show Grandma the trick?"

"Okay, Big Man, but you'll have to have your Daddy hold you." Once in his father's arms, he reached out his hand so that Elle could put her hand flat against his. On cue, his hair stuck straight out. Meredith chuckled and Angela smiled appreciatively.

Angela gave a subtle head tilt and Elle nodded. She tightened the muscles in her hand, and small blue sparks crackled. Noah appeared oblivious; asking Meredith if she thought it was funny. Meredith dutifully affirmed. Elle concentrated harder and the small gap between their hands became bright with blue light as a thick beam of lightning passed from mother to child.

Elle pulled her hand away, leaving Noah with more than a few stray hairs sticking straight up. She kissed her son's head, glad to find that his hair was still soft; her eyes met her husband's.

"You gotta admit," he suggested, "we gotta cool kid."

Elle smiled. "Yeah." She touched her husband's neck and sent him a small shock.

: : :

Claire and Matt  
Pinehearst Company  
Fort Lee, NJ

"So, telepathy?" Claire asked, standing at the doorway of the locker room, staring at Matt.

Matt finished buttoning up his navy blue shirt over a clean, white tee and wrinkle-free navy blue pants. "That's right," he replied.

"What is the extent of your power?"

Matt studied Claire, his brow furrowed. Knowingly, he commented, "You don't think I'm going to be half the agent my wife was. I say 'was' because you practically consider her dead already. You're angry about Costa Verde, but it's more because you feel like a failure than because put her in harm's way. Though, you did like her." Probing deeper, he continued, "You also would rather people not know that the head of this company is your grandfather, because you think it looks like you're getting preferential treatment, and you find the misconception preposterous since you willingly volunteer for the most dangerous assignments. In fact, you've always felt like the entire Petrelli clan keeps you at arm's distance. Except for Peter… but even he let you down."

The hand above Claire's holster was clenched, especially the index finger, which twitched as if it were looking for a trigger to pull. Matt noticed this but continued, "Also, you think I should change into more casual clothes."

Claire calmed but replied stonily as usual, "We have a lax dress code here." She crossed her arms. Her leather jacket was loose enough not to inhibit arm movement. The form-fitting black vest underneath performed the same function, as well as dipping low to disguise her youth. Her black pants were straight cut, neither too tight across her legs nor too loose. Her dark brown hair was pulled back tight in an austere ponytail that was more function than fashion.

Matt responded, "I'm a cop. Blue is what I wear when I'm protecting people and hunting down bad guys. And I make it a point to dress better than the scum I'm chasing down."

"Fair enough," Claire conceded.

"I've also got one more trick," Matt commented, before fading before Claire's eyes and reappearing behind her.

Tilting her head as only to see him out of the corner of her eye, she remarked dully, "You'll do I guess."

"You're impressed," he divined.

"Don't make me get the Haitian."

Matt took several steps back. Claire turned to face him and sized him up.

"So," Matt said to break the silence, "speaking of which, does that guy have like no name at all or something?"

Not smiling, Claire responded, "Oh, I suspect he does. We respect our agents' privacy here. No one's abilities work around him, so there's no getting it out of him. Even if we were to discover it, it's more than likely we'd promptly forget. Daphne suspected _he_ may have forgotten."

Matt just nodded. "So, any specific reason you came to see me?"

"I need you to come with me," Claire said, "The boss would like to meet you."

"And by the boss, you mean Grandpa?"

"Don't call him that," she warned, "I don't."

Matt followed Claire, doing his best to get his bearings. The tour quickly ended when Claire briskly entered a well-lit lounge area by shoving open the double doors. "Matt Parkman, meet Arthur Petrelli."

Matt immediately extended his hand. "Mr. Petrelli, it's an honor."

Arthur took a moment to stare at the hand before taking it. "Your father taught you well. He was a very trusting individual. You have his chin."

Matt didn't know how to respond to the last part. "Thank you. Nathan has your chin."

"A roll of the genetic dice. He was lucky." He smiled immediately, and Matt politely chuckled.

A sudden headache made Matt take a step back. "Sir, are you a telepath?"

"No, but I tend to pick up powers here and there."

"Oh," Matt commented, "the same way that your son does." Arthur looked momentarily offended. "Peter?" Matt added.

Arthur's mood brightened immediately, "Yes, it's the one thing that Peter did get from me."

"So, is it true you had your son killed?"

Arthur answered with a magnanimous tone, "Unfortunately, yes. I wasn't an easy decision to make, let me tell you. But Peter had become a terrorist. Given his array of powers, especially his ability to survive whatever attacks he instigated, it just made him too dangerous of an individual. I would have welcomed any other solution, but Peter refused to reform. A father has to do what a father has to do."

Matt looked visibly unnerved.

: : :

Tracy Petrelli  
Primatech Medical Facility  
Barstow, California

Clad in the finest skirt suit available, Tracy Petrelli entered the medical bay where Angela was having a terse conversation with her son and his wife, while to the side, Meredith Gordon tried to remain separate from the conversation. Noah Gray was scrambling around the room, creating craters in the cement walls and bending metal carts.

Noting Tracy's presence immediately, Angela welcomed the visitor, "Aw, if it isn't my favorite daughter-in-law."

Elle turned to her husband and commented, "Why does your mom like Nathan's wife better?"

Meredith commented, "Hey, it has nothing to do with Nathan. She was never keen on me."

Angela turned, "You give me too much credit. I merely _tolerated_ Heidi."

Elle, with a distinguished flourish, curtsied and commented, "Madame First Lady."

Eager to ignore Angela, Tracy replied dryly, "Please, Elle, we're sisters-in-law. I get enough sucking up as it is."

"Aunt Tracy!" Noah proclaimed, racing to Tracy and hugging her around her skirt. There is a distinctively _crunch_ and the sound of fabric tearing. When Noah pulls away, the outside layer of her skirt is tattered.

Elle apologized profusely, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Your suit." Tracy pulled out a pair of mangled sunglasses and Elle nearly fell to her knees, "Oh, no, you're sunglasses. That's devastating!"

Tracy shrugged it off. "It's okay. My husband makes $800,000 a year." She looked at her nephew again, noting, "He's strong."

"He's indestructible," Meredith corrected, sending a small fireball into the back of Noah's head.

With a ball of lightning ready, Elle commented, "Could you stop setting the crazy lady's son on fire?"

Angela glided over to Tracy. Holding her arm, she with excess politeness, inquired, "So, Tracy, what brings you here?"

Tracy held out a sketch of Noah on a medical table. "One of our precogs drew this. Thought I'd check in on my nephew. Glad to here he survived."

Elle smiled, "You came all the way out here, to the competition, just to check on Noah. That's sweet."

"I wish my visit could be so cordial, but I do have another question." Her voice turned icy. "Where is Peter Petrelli?"

Elle directed her son out of the room. "Grownups have to talk."

Against the chilling silence that followed, Gabriel exclaimed, "From what I hear, my brother is on a slab at Pinehearst."

Unfazed, Tracy corrected, "There are two of them. According to our agents, he apparently brought his past self from 2007. Claire killed this time's one. The other is still unaccounted for. He sliced open Nathan's head and we'd like to bring him to justice."

Meredith gasped. Off Tracy's dirty look, she scoffed. "Hey, just because I'm over the man doesn't mean I don't care about his health and safety. Maybe I'm just patriotic."

"_My husband_ will be fine. He is the President after all. There are contingency plans for this type of situation. Fortunately, Claire was right outside the door. He'll be back on his feet in a number of days. I'm not going to ask again about the whereabouts of the other Peter."

Elle put her hand on her husband's shoulder to calm him, "We just saw the other Peter at a diner called Mama's in Redondo Beach. But he teleported out. He could have already returned to his time."

"Well, Gabriel, he took your ability. He seems to have the hunger."

Gabriel defended, "The hunger can be controlled. I've been doing it for years."

"You've always said it's because of your son. Who you lost."

"And got back," Gabriel parried. To punctuate his statement, the metal door of the lab fell backwards and a guilty-looking Noah stood in the doorway. Gabriel gave him a sympathetic grin and bid him come over. The boy raced to his father's arms, almost knocking the man over.

Meredith jumped in. "Well, if it's all a matter of kids, maybe Angela can set it up. It's a hobby of hers."

"Oh, I don't worry. Someday Peter will meet a nice girl who doesn't end up shot or lost in an alternate timeline or all those silly misfortunes that befall his lovers."

Tracy sighed, "Regardless, let's hope that the other Peter finds a way to resist in his own time. Gabriel, you survived the blast, I see. That's more than I can say for the hundreds of thousands of Costa Verde residents."

Elle jumped in. "That's hardly Gabriel _or_ Peter's fault. It was Pinehearst's reckless agents."

"Funny," Tracy related with a sarcasm-edged voice, "while Peter and your husband are still alive, two of those so-called _reckless_ agents are dead. Washington was vaporized and Parkman barely had time to say good-bye to her husband and children before falling dead before their eyes."

"Don't you _dare_ talk to me about children! One of them killed my son." Elle launched a ball of electricity at Tracy.

Tracy nonchalantly held up an ice-covered hand to the burst, nullifying it. "Noah looks fine to me. He seems to have finally developed abilities, though."

Covering his son's ears, Gabriel spoke venomously, "One of those agents, a man you _knew_ to be a heartless killer, caused the death of my son using his own fear. Overcome with grief, I lost control. My apologies for that. By some miracle, my son was given the ability to rise from this tragedy unscathed. Powers are dangerous, or should I bring up the man that _you _killed when yours first developed."

Her face red with rage, Tracy stomped forward and froze Gabriel solid, who dropped Noah in time to save him from the freezing blast. Rolling her eyes, Meredith created large flames around Gabriel, defrosting him.

"My apologies," Tracy apologized regally. "I let my emotions get the better of me. Understand that I wouldn't have dared had he not had regenerative abilites. If Peter is truly gone, he apparently hasn't fixed anything. This inquisition is over."

Gabriel noted, brushing off the last chunks of ice and frost-bitten body parts, "The Peter of _our_ time tried for years to prevent these types of tragedies. Too bad Hiro Nakamura double-crossed you. He'd be able to try. Or can't you find time-space manipulators."

"The universe, for its own survival, has made that ability extremely rare. Regardless, Nakamura is a terrorist just like Peter. We have an agent on him."

Elle prompted, "Speaking of agents, I heard on the news that Congress agreed to full proliferation of government superpowered agents. You guys just got a whole lot of new shiny toys, didn't you?"

"Every precog under our employ has said the same thing: it's because of the Synthetics that the world breaks. It's our policy to track down these individuals and prevent the catastrophe."

"_You're_ a Synthetic."

"I'm a cryo. It's the IRs and the exploders and the quakers that will cause it. Over the years, we have averted tragedy after tragedy. Do you know how many times we've stopped the end of the world?"

Angela fired back, "Do you know how many times _we_ have? Or Peter has by himself?"

"Peter fought valiantly for years," Tracy replied, "and we thank him. But lately, his methods are unacceptable. We had enough trouble on our hands without the bombings." Overcome with frustration, she added, "We're all family here." In the background, Meredith waved her hand in the 'so-so' gesture. "And the last thing I want to do is rip us apart, but I want the world to go on so that my children will have a place to live and I can't do that if you're fighting me."

"Are you sure you can do it at all?" Angela pointed.

"God willing," Tracy said with finality as she exited the empty doorframe.

: : :

A/N: So, yes, Noah has Doomsday powers. It's not meant to be foreshadowing. Or maybe it is. I've not gotten that far in the planning.

Also, the flashbacks are probably going to be less frequent now. I do like exploring the Group of Twelve but I'm only going to write those parts if they're relevant. I'm getting into the meat of the story now, and frankly, this future is vivid enough to carry the series. As always, reviews bring chapters faster.

Started 10/29/2008. Finished 11/6/2008. Updated 11/9/2008.


	6. The Lives We Live

The World Entire, Chapter 6  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Micah gets a visit from his aunt. Matt puts his plan into motion.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: I love puzzle piece fics. I keep thinking to myself, "I wonder what this character would be up to?" and their role in the story just falls into place.

By the way, I know it's cliché, but I want to thank you all for your reviews. It's comments like yours that remind me I'm not just some hack with a keyboard.

: : :

Chapter 6: The Lives We Live

_One of the central philosophies in Buddhism is the timelessness of self. The self always was, never wasn't, always is, and always will be, never to cease existing. To even consider otherwise is simply counterproductive. In this mindset, much becomes meaningless: possessions, vengeance, greed, lust, responsibility, even love. However, it is just as large of sin to neglect the next world for this one as the other way around. The Fourteenth Dalai Lama once told Pope John Paul II that one thing he admired about the Christian Church was its dedication to social justice, that it was a virtue too long neglected among Buddhists. The greatest mission for any person must be to help another, to help all, to help self, or the world will surely crumble. _

: : :

Micah Sanders  
Random Hall  
MIT  
Cambridge, Massachusetts

With his hands laid flat against the keyboard, Micah focused on his laptop. On screen, computer code appeared at a rate of a dozen lines per second.

"Let's see if that works," he commented to himself. A few clicks of the mouse and he watched as a long series of log messages appeared on screen. After a few seconds, a large error message appeared, eliciting a groan from the programmer.

A knock at the door interrupted his pity party. He opened the outside door of his dorm to find the First Lady standing there.

"Aunt Tracy!" He gave his aunt a tight hug. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed a break from all the drama that's going on. And I thought, what better way to do so than visit my favorite nephew? So, how's school?"

Welcoming his aunt into his room, he replied, "Hard."

"Well, it's MIT. And you're fifteen. What kind of cakewalk were you expecting?"

"I'm a technopath majoring in Computer Engineering."

"Yeah, one of fourteen as I hear it. But you're having fun, right?"

Micah's eyes lit up. "Today I got to touch a supercomputer."

"Please tell me that you had nothing to do with the stock market dip today or the new computer virus…"

Micah chuckled. "It was completely isolated from the network. And my professor's a byte-talker too, so there was nothing I could do to screw it up." He stared at his aunt's forehead, "Where are your sunglasses? Did you lose them?" He gave her a sympathetic look, as if her favorite pet had died.

"Why does everyone think I was so attached to those darn sunglasses?" Sighing, Tracy toured his room. His bed was garbed in plain green sheets. Two large laundry baskets, filled past the brim with tee-shirts sat in the far corner. A single M.C. Escher poster adorned the expansive wall. His desk was a mess of textbooks and papers and bits of computer hardware. "Not much of a decorator, are you?" she finally asked.

"Nah, not worth the time."

"You're making me feel guilty for how much I paid to decorate the White House. You don't make your bed. It's okay, neither does the President."

"Funny, Mom, I…" Micah stopped dead.

Tracy gave him a kind smile. Softly, she said, "It's okay, Micah, I know. I look like her. I sound like her."

"And sometimes you act like her."

"Hopefully you mean the mothery stuff and not… never mind. I'll take it as a compliment." She grabbed him in another hug and took notice of a bulletin board above his dresser, where his father's medal of bravery was proudly displayed. "Following the St. Joan story, I see."

With awe in his voice, he replied, "Yeah, I think she's a hero."

Tracy scowled. Diplomatically, she commented, "Her heart's in the right place. But the NOPD has plenty of spots for specials. I don't like to condone vigilantism." Switching trains of thought, she asked, "Ever hear from your cousin Monica?"

Micah had a momentarily panicked expression that he subverted before responding. "She's enjoying college. Especially since it's free thanks to the US Taxpayers."

Tracy corrected authoritatively, "Your Uncle Nathan is paying for her tuition out of pocket. As well as Damon's," and after a long pause, she added, "which, in retrospect, was not such a hot idea."

"I tried to tell you. First thing he'd try to buy once he turned eighteen was a car."

"Well, he's just going to have to do with a Toyota Corolla until he fails out of community college. After that, those car payments and those gas card bills, yeah, they're going to _his_ address."

Tracy's mobile phone rang, wiping the smiles off of her and Micah's faces. She looked at the caller ID and before she could say the same thing, Micah asked, "Duty calls?"

"Sorry to cut this visit short, but… the free world is at risk… again," Tracy commented flippantly. "I'll try to visit you again soon. I promise."

Micah gave his aunt a sincere hug.

"Gosh, you're getting tall," Tracy noted, her chin no longer able to rest on his head.

Micah let Tracy out and returned to his desk, where he pressed his hands again his laptop's keyboard again. The long lines of code modified themselves, and this time, when he ran the program, there was a fluttering noise from the floor where a sparrow-sized, dragonfly-shaped robot floated off the floor.

Micah grinned, muttering, "Time to save the world."

: : :

Matt Parkman  
Pinehearst Medical Facility  
Fort Lee, New Jersey

Matt was easily able to open the door to the morgue. It had been severely damaged and put back on rather sloppily. Finding Peter's labeled drawer was a simple task. As much as Claire may have hated her uncle, she obviously felt he deserved more than an anonymous death.

Peter's body showed some level of decay and did have a certain malodorous aroma to it. But Matt persevered and rolled him over. Grabbing a pair of forceps, he messily dug the bullet from the back of Peter's head, praying he wasn't removing too much brain matter. The bullet hole showed a clean shot, obviously done while he was incapacitated.

Matt then readied a chemical coma kit. He sloppily taped it on Peter's chest and inserted the tube in his left nostril. He then waited for him to regenerate, which Peter apparently showed no signs of doing. The bullet holes in his chest remained unhealed.

The sound of a pistol cocking was far too familiar to Matt. A quick mental sweep told him the gunman's—gunwoman's, that is—identity without turning around.

"Hey, boss, what's up?" he joked.

Claire remained humorless, "What do you think you're doing?"

She watched as Matt turned around, raising his arms, revealing Peter's now healed body, quietly dormant. "I'm just trying to question him," Matt answered, backing away from Peter.

"There is nothing that anyone needs to say to Peter." She walked up to her uncle; Matt slid further out of the way. With a smoldering mix of fury and sorrow, she ripped the tube out of his nose. She raised her gun and pointed it straight between Peter's eyes. After a whispered "Sorry" under her breath, she fired a single shot. The sound was deafening. Luckily, Claire's eardrums were immune to damage.

She wasn't expecting was the dull _clank_ of a bullet hitting the metal drawer.

All at once, Peter's body faded from sight. She looked up and Matt's form did as well. "God, I hate telepaths," she growled through her teeth.

She raced out the door, but if Matt or Peter were anywhere close, her vision was being blocked.

Down the hall, Matt, with a comatose Peter in his arms, made his way to the elevator. He kept an eye out for passer-byers whose vision he'd have to affect, but he saw none.

He wasn't aware of the cameras.

The alarms started just as he entered the elevator. Looking around in the panic, his eyes finally settled on the camera in the elevator. He moved to the far side of the cabin out of viewing range.

: : :

Eisenhardt Academy  
Pinehearst Company  
Fort Lee, New Jersey

Mandy Dawson surveyed the full but quiet classroom. Any other teacher would have gone crazy trying to educate forty rowdy teenagers, much less superpowered ones, but with her Synthetic soothing voice, it was a piece of cake.

There was a knock on the door and a very comely agent in a well-pressed suit was waiting there.

"May I help you?" she asked with full sweetness.

In a stern, no-nonsense voice, the agent replied, "Yes, I'm Terrance Donaldson. I've been instructed to take Molly Walker back to her apartment. It's urgent." He showed Mandy his credentials. They checked out according to her log.

Mandy pointed to Molly's seat right before her heart dropped in her chest. Molly, a new student in her class, was missing from her seat. Mandy scrambled for her attendance roll. Molly had been present during roll call yet had not been checked out.

The teacher fumbled for words. "Molly doesn't appear to be here. I mean, she had some trouble adjusting, but there's no way she could have escaped. This is a heavily guarded facility."

The man's face dropped. "Unless you know exactly where the guards are."

Mandy was struck with sudden realization. Part of her job was to ascertain that each student's abilities could be counteracted. A clairvoyant seemed pretty harmless, but this was a scenario that hadn't occurred to her.

The handsome man left. Had she watched him leave, she would have noticed that the man suddenly became Matt Parkman holding an unconscious Peter Petrelli.

: : :

Bob and Elle Bishop  
Queens, New York  
1994

Bob Bishop walked down the streets of Queens with his blonde preteen daughter. On his right hand, which was holding his daughter's hand, he wore a rubber glove. She was staring at the pigeons with malicious intent. She pointed one finger at the flock. A quick stream of water struck her finger.

"Ow!" she pulled her finger back and held it against her chest. She turned to her father and scowled, "Daddy, I wasn't gonna do it."

"Then why was your finger charged?" Bob asked dispassionately, slipping the water gun back in his pocket.

"I don't know," she mumbled under her breath. "Where we going?"

"I'm getting my watch repaired."

"Daddy, I'm pretty sure there are repair shops in LA. Or Manhattan, where we just were. Which had cool shops. And rich friends."

"Mrs. Petrelli is kind enough to send you a Christmas present every year."

"She sent me a doll last year. I'm _twelve_. Can you tell her to get me a pretty dress this time? And not some silly girl's dress. A lady's dress."

"I'll pass along the message," Bob commented dryly. "Here we are."

Bob stopped in front of a street-side shop labeled "Clock and Watch Repair." On the front window, "Gray & Sons" was painted below an ornate image of a clock face.

The door featured a bell, and a gray-haired man of medium height looked up from his work on a mantel clock. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to get this watch repaired." Bob slipped his gold watch off and handed it to the proprietor, who dutifully and carefully screwed off the golden screws from the back plating. He peered at it for a moment, "Well, I can't see any obvious defects. I'll have to look at it. How soon do you need it?"

"Well, I wasn't planning on staying in New York for very long…"

"Businessman, got it. Here, I'll have my son look at it. He got a sixth sense about these things." Gray turned around and called back, "Gabriel, get in here."

A tall, lanky teenager emerged from the back room, holding a newspaper and a pen. "Yeah, Pop?"

Gray turned around to look at his son. "Boy, I thought I told you to fix the Weirmanns' clock."

"Finished," Gabriel replied, "Hey, you ever tried these crossword puzzles in the _Times_? They're fun."

"You're supposed to be working."

Laying down the completed puzzle, Gabriel replied, "Took me seven minutes. I _timed_ myself. With the Weirmanns' fixed clock. What do you need?"

"Watch your tongue," Gray scolded under his breath. "Could you help your old man figure out what's the matter with this gentleman's watch?"

Gabriel walked to his father's work desk. He towered over the man. His eyes scanned the inner workings of the watch and he quickly deduced, "It's the battery."

Bob was taken aback, "That was a rather quick diagnosis."

Gabriel showed the inside of the watch to Bob. "Note that motor pin is still and loose." He brought it back to his face, "From the looks of these scorch marks, the battery overloaded." He looked closer, "It's probably all the gold parts in here. Most people don't know this, but gold is an excellent conductor of electricity, better than copper. Though, it appears that the scorching is very severe. By any chance, was this watch exposed to high-voltage electricity?"

Bob turned to the mass of blond hair roaming the store. "We do have a bit of wiring problem at our house."

Elle spun around, putting on an innocent face, which behind her, she attempted to put a cuckoo clock back on the shelf behind her without detection. Her eye caught the handsome watchmaker's son, who smiled kindly at her.

"She's shy," Bob noted, both as an explanation and a subtle hint.

The hint was too subtle as Elle approached the workbench and lifted her wrist the dark-hair teenager. "I've got a watch, too." She prominently displayed a silver women's watch with a deep maroon face.

Gabriel took her hand, causing Elle's heart to skip a beat and small shock to cross their hands. Gabriel lurched away, but apologized, "Static electricity. It's probably these fleece sweaters my mom makes me wear." He took her wrist again and examined it. "It's a pretty watch."

"It was my mom's."

Gabriel just laid his ear against the watch face. Elle grinned from ear to ear, but wiped it off her face when her father looked on disapprovingly.

With wrinkled brows—_and what beautiful eyebrows they were! _thought Elle—he commented, "This watch is in perfect working condition, especially for an older model. I wonder who the maker is."

He twisted her arm and read the plate. "Sylar." Nodding, he commented, "I'll have to check it out."

His father explained, "It's a German company. Expertly crafted. They went out of business several years back." Off his son's rather disappointed face, he commented, "Have your mom check those rummage sales next time she's looking for those textbooks you like."

To Elle's disappointment, Gabriel released her arm. He turned to Bob. "I can have it fixed within the hour. Just settle up payment with my dad and you can pick it up anytime today."

Gabriel retreated into the back room with Bob's watch. Bob turned to Gray and mentioned, "That's a bright kid you got."

"He's more than bright. That kid's been taking apart things and putting them back together since he could unlock his baby gate. It's a shame we can't send him to college. But plenty of fine, smart people work honest jobs to make a living and love it. You don't need college to learn about life."

"I can respect that point of view," Bob replied charitably.

"Come by later and we'll settle up the bill."

Bob put the rubber glove back on and beckoned his daughter. Once outside the shop, he made a call on his bulky cell phone. "Yeah, I checked on him. Nothing displayed yet. He seems very smart, though. There's no telling."

He hung up without saying good-bye.

"Who was that, Daddy?"

"No one, Elle. Ready for some spaghetti?"

"Yeah!" the blonde preteen exclaimed.

As her father led her away, she kept an eye on the storefront until it was out of sight.

: : :

Kirishitan Cathedral  
Ikitsuki, Japan  
2011

There was no indication that the church had been used in decades. A lone bulletin, yellowed with age, the date faded beyond recognition.

However, the sanctuary showed signs of recent activity: miles of yarn was tied to every crevice of the place, producing a web that seemed to fill the room. All along the string, photographs, newspaper clippings from around the world, note cards, and small mementoes hang from clothespins and paper clips. The yarn extends out into the narthex through the doorways where the rotted doors have been knocked down.

A lone figure appears and disappears every few moments to hand another picture or newspaper article. There is no correlation between the date on the picture or article and its apparent age. Some items from the 1970s are crisp and new, while some supposedly recent items are yellowed and curling.

The wall space that is not being used to tie string to is covered with newspapers, the stock reports and comics mostly, and elaborate diagrams are scribbled on them.

Hiro Nakamura, with a slicked-back pony tail and leather jacket, appeared out of the void in front of one such wall of diagrams, holding a journal. He scribbled on it furiously while mumbling to himself. He stopped dead, asking himself, "Wait, what did I change then…?"

He threw the book into the wall and screamed, "It's too much!" The sound echoed through the empty church. He took up at the wall-to-wall graph overwhelmed. From his jacket, he pulled out a stained, bent photograph of a much younger him, smiling dumbly with a beautiful redhead grinning from ear to ear.

"I could really use your brain now, Charlie. We might be able to save the world together." He slipped it back into his pocket and let a single tear fall in desperation.

: : :

A/N: So, here's the exciting promo: we're meeting St. Joan next week, and there's more to the story than you would ever guess.

That's why I don't do promos in real life.

That 1994 montage was for **BreatheMeDeep**, who enjoyed the antics of superpower kiddies and **balletflats_**, who wanted some Syelley goodness. It was early youngins Syelle, but it should hold you until I get to the grownup fun. Not that kind of grownup fun. Or maybe yes. I just go where my fics take me.

Started 10/30/2008. Finished 11/8/2008.


	7. Turning the Tides

The World Entire, Chapter 7  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: St. Joan watches over New Orleans. Matt confronts Peter. Gabriel and Elle discuss psychoses.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: So, with all the plot arcs going on, I'm finding that more and more can be pushed to later chapters, which of course, requires me to write _more_ scenes to complement what I already have. I'm finding it remarkably easy to keep going and the response has been very positive, which just inspires me more.

There are a few "revelation" scenes that I am particularly proud of. The first was Noah's power. The second one occurs in this chapter.

: : :

Chapter 7: Turning the Tide

_In Greek mythology, the gods lorded over the mortals. The Greeks believed their gods to be petty and temperamental, showing favoritism. In other words, like themselves, only wielding great power. A victory in war was attributed to favor with the god Ares or goddess Athena. A massive, ship-wrecking storm was the work of an unsatisfied Poseidon. Though, if history has told us anything, there is a balance between fate and free will. Our actions have consequences, even if we can't see them. Some things cannot be avoided, but as humans we are given the reasoning to react to them in a productive—or detrimental—manner. But what can we do when we see the seemingly inevitable storms of the future on the horizon? Do we dare challenge the will of the gods and make our own destiny? And, if we succeed, what would we find when we get there? _

: : :

Xavier Daniau  
First Street Docks  
New Orleans, Louisiana

This was not a good day for Xavier Daniau. He was just trying to make a little cash by picking off a jewelry store with a bad security system. It was a rather easy task with his new abilities. Except now he was on the run from the city's local vigilante.

His crew was able to steal a few dozen pricy Synthetic Shots from a delivery truck. At first it seemed like a good idea: abilities would no doubt aid in their noble pursuits and they'd have a few dozen shots left over to sell. On the contrary, it would turn out to be nothing more than a precursor to a big superpower-fueled mêlée. In the interest of their individual safety, they decided to split up and work solo for a while.

Xavi had gained the ability to throw things with perfect aim. It came with the added bonus of a bit of super strength, allowing him to launch some heavier objects. Nothing too big, he discovered when he tried to throw a car and ended up throwing out his back instead. And his projectiles typically traveled bullet-fast. Overall, it was useful for a thief.

But not today, he realized. The hooded vigilante was chasing him relentless and his powers were ineffective against her. St. Joan was just too talented. Little was know about her. She was assumed to be female, because of the name. Xavi couldn't deny she appeared female, judging by her hip-hugging jeans. Her face, however, was obscured by the hooded sweatshirt she wore. On her feet were Converse sneakers, which ought to have decreased her menacing ambiance, but the kris dagger in her hand more than compensated for that. Xavi was definitely trying to avoid coming into contact with the curved blade.

He did his best to slow down his pursuer by launching obstacles her way, but it was to no avail. She flipped over, somersaulted around, kicked aside, or otherwise rendered his ability worthless. Xavi had read the comic book about her. She was a "muscle mimic", whatever that meant. What it mean, as he was finding out, was that she had the agility of champion gymnast and knew a lot of different types of martial arts.

Finding open air to her advantage, Xavi decided to take the fight indoors. There was a coffee bean warehouse by the docks that was out of commission for the hurricane season. A stray anchor was the perfect item for knocking down the door for easy entry. Once inside, Xavi collected items for the fight: abandoned tools and other scraps. He started his bombardment immediately once cornered. St. Joan proved herself to be too difficult of a target, though he was able to keep her at a distance.

He threw his last reserve item: a crowbar, with deadly accuracy, but St. Joan's quickness proved to be too much. She easily dodged the weapon. "My turn," she commented, pulling out her kris. Xavi's blood froze as he watched St. Joan throw the dagger with _his_ telltale arm twist. She couldn't match the speed at which he threw things, but she definitely copied his accuracy.

The blade appeared to miss, giving Xavi momentary hope, at least until he tried to escape and promptly fell to the ground, finding his jean leg "nailed" to wall. He struggled to get the curved blade out of the wall and blindly threw it. It missed by miles and he found himself strangle-held by the vigilante.

He grinned. "Bad move," he called and lunged his body forward, throwing St. Joan across the room. She recovered midair and contorted her body so that she landed feet-first on the wall, using her legs to cushion the impact.

Blessing his good fortune, he pulled out a gun. St. Joan emerged from some boxes with her knife.

Xavi laughed. "Sweetie, don't you know never to bring a knife to a gun fight? Let's see if you can dodge this." He set his sights on St. Joan.

And promptly lost his gun when his arm was pulled aside and his wrist painfully twisted. He felt a pair of sharp points in his back, and then a powerful jolt of electricity rendered him unconscious.

St. Joan landed on the group, pulling off her hood to reveal her identity of Monica Dawson. "I could have taken him," she commented, "Thanks, Bennet."

In a gray suit and tie, with a gun strapped to his belt and a taser in his hand, Lyle Bennet emerged from the shadows. "No problem, Dawson. So, where're we taking this guy?"

"Carlson wanted him captured."

"Well, we'll throw him in the trunk. Make sure there's nothing that he could use as a bullet. Empty his pockets."

Monica smiled proudly and lightly punched Lyle in the shoulder. "Will do. He'd be proud, you know."

"I know," he said passively, handcuffing Daniau.

: : :

Peter Petrelli  
Kirby Square

Peter Petrelli woke up and found himself in courtyard of Kirby Square. He looked around for Claire, who he remembered had shot him. He found no bullet holes in his chest, so he must have regenerated.

But something wasn't right. He shouldn't be in Kirby Square. And Kirby Square didn't look like this anymore. Linderman's office building had been bought out by Fletcher Pharmaceuticals. And it should have been busy with people at this time of night. Instead, it was deserted.

Except for Matt Parkman.

"Matt?"

Hurriedly, Matt stated, "Peter, we don't have much time."

"Why are we at Kirby Square? Where is everyone?"

"We're not at Kirby Square. We're outside Pinehearst, in your head. You were shot by Claire a few days ago, and I brought you back. Unfortunately, she happened to walk in on me."

"I take it she didn't let you bring me back to life?"

"Hardly."

Peter began to explain, "I brought my double from 2007…"

"He escaped. He found Sylar at the Bennets' old house in Costa Verde and took his ability. Pinehearst agents showed up and killed his son and Sylar went nuclear. He killed one agent and nearly killed my wife."

"Dammit. He's not ready for Sylar's power. I'm sorry about your wife."

"Listen, Peter, I need your help."

: : :

Residential Quarters  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California

Gabriel screamed in pain as Elle dug her fingers into his bare chest, filling him with massive doses of electricity. Her fingers glowed brightly from the transfer and her teeth were clenched in fury. She finally let up, looking very relieved afterwards.

Gabriel breathed heavily as his abilities healed him. "So, I take it you're _really_ angry at my mother?"

Elle, wearing a tight "Naughty"-embossed tee and a cotton sleep shorts, rolled her neck. "I kind of liked that Noah was the only accident in my life. My dad was in control of my whole life. In a way, it was like I finally bucked his plans. I was wrong. She planned even him."

"Anything else bothering you?"

"I was at the grocery store today and some lady cut in line in front of me." After an inviting gesture from her husband, Elle dug her hands into Gabriel's chest and let loose her lightning. It was a quick burst, though. She sighed with contentment.

"Feeling better?" he asked kindly.

"Yep, got all my crazy out for the day."

Gabriel frowned playfully, pursing his lips comically. "Too bad, I was hoping there was still a little bit left that I'd have to knock out of you." His frown turned to a lecherous grin.

Coyly, she replied, "Well, you'll find I'm a bottomless pit of crazy. I'm sure we could dig up a little for you to excise." As Gabriel began to kiss her neck, she began to narrate, "Oh, here's something: since I found out that Noah was immune to electricity, I _might_ have been doing some experiments."

"Hmm? Me, too," he whispered in her ear, which he followed up by a lick and playful bite. "Since all his toys were destroyed, I may have gotten him some unusual replacements. Pointy things. Sharp things. Dangerous things." This last part he said humming his words against her throat.

With a tight grin on his thighs, she replied, "That's nefarious. I doubt the American Board of Child Psychology would approve."

Capturing her lips, he agreed, "They mostly certainly would not." He slid his hand under her shirt and held her waste, pressing his forehead against hers.

She asked, "Why _do_ you love my crazy, deranged ass?"

He slipped one hand away from her waste to give her buttock a playful spank. "Well, you have to admit, it's a rather attractive ass."

"Oh, you're gonna pay for that, Mister."

_Forty-six minutes and fifty-five seconds later…_

Gabriel, lying contently on his back, watched as his wife propped herself up on one elbow and began using her other hand to try to shape his eyebrows using her charged finger, only to have the hair grow back. She wasn't the least bit peeved about it.

"You know," Gabriel spoke in a soft voice, "if the world were to crack in half, I think our son would be the only one to survive. Ever-breathers would freeze. Burners would suffocate. Even regenerators would eventually shatter their brains on a stray asteroid."

"You really suck at pillow talk," Elle commented, sticking her finger in his ear.

Groaning as the hearing returned on that side of his head, he replied, "How would you know? The only _pillow_ you've _talked on_ is mine."

"True," she admitted, but noted, "but I watch a lot of TV. Post-coital lovers say nice things."

"The last time I tried to talk sweet to you, you tried to burn off certain down-South regions of my body."

"Well, in my defense, you're a bad sweet talker."

"Guilty as charged. Going back to the whole end of the world." Elle wobbled her head acerbically. "I think you know what that means."

"You're hell-bent on saving the world. So, I'm guessing you want to come and work with your intelligent, capable, and dead-sexy wife?"

"I was actually hoping to work with you." She raised a threatening hand. "I tried to retreat once and look where it got us."

"You're gonna get teased. I kind of use work to blow off steam about you. Certain untrue and highly embarrassing things might have been said. Sorry," she finished apathetically.

: : :

Molly Walker  
Mohinder Suresh's Lab  
Lower Manhattan, New York

Molly pushed open the door to the studio. She walked around, finding the once immaculate lab now filthy with years of piled up dust and lab equipment littered across the floor.

"Mohinder?" she called into the darkness.

"Molly?" she heard a voice in the other room.

"Yes! Mohinder, where are you? It's me!"

The familiar voice was insistent, "Molly, please leave."

"No! I came all this way to find you."

"You shouldn't have come. Matt was taking good care of you."

"He sold out to the bastards that killed my mom."

"Language," he scolded paternally.

"Matt, I'm not ten years old any more."

His voice still coming from the other room, Mohinder questioned, "I thought… Sylar killed your mother."

"Not my birth mom. Daphne, Matt's wife."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

Molly approached the other room. "Are you okay?"

The figure, who was peeking out of the curtain, pulled back. "No, I'm not. I tried to recreate the formula that gives synthetic abilities and I made a horrible mistake."

"Mohinder, there's no reason to hide." She opened the curtain and looked in. The figure raced to the side of the room.

"Yes, there is." He came out of the shadows, still hidden beneath a hooded sweatshirt. "The formula; it gave me abilities, but it disfigured me. Turned me into a monster."

"You don't sound like a monster."

"It didn't affect my voice."

"That's not what I meant. I mean, if you were a bad guy, wouldn't you be committing crimes or something?"

"Oh, I have. I've kidnapped a great many evolved humans in an attempt to reverse the change. I gave up years ago."

Molly noted the strange, human-sized, web-like sacs on the wall. They were empty. "Mohinder, I don't care what you look like. I need your help."

"There's nothing I can do for you, Molly."

"Yes, there is."

: : :

A/N: So, you probably want to be titillated about the next chapters or something? Well, I neglected Hiro's plot for the first part of the volume, so I'm definitely ramping up that soon. I'm personally pretty excited about the Lyle, the Company Man, so that's on the slate. The Matt/Peter/Molly/Mohinder plot is really the driving force right now and I can't seem to develop it fast enough. Gabrielle and Elle have some plots cooking. Nathan and the Presidency will be _crucial_ in Act II, so be on the lookout for hints of his coming storylines. And God help me when Act III rolls around because… well, I've got to decide which characters are going to die.

Started 10/30/2008. Finished 11/9/2008.


	8. The Right Choice

The World Entire, Chapter 8  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Monica and Lyle face a bit of trouble on their bag and tag mission. Ando is on a quest. Matt enlists Peter's help. Gabriel starts his new job.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: Sorry for the tragic two-day wait for this chapter. It was not ready yesterday.

But, hey, the chapters are getting longer and longer, for what's it's worth.

: : :

Chapter 8: The Right Choice

_The Wiccan Rede, the guiding philosophy of morality of Wicca, is "__Do as ye will, as long as ye harm none.__" Life is a path, a long succession of diverging roads where one must make a decision. Fight or flight. Love or loss. Step up or step off. The road less traveled by. Turn the other cheek. Join or die. Coffee or tea. Every moment, every second, every heartbeat, is an opportunity to take a stand against the wrongs of the world. Or to cower and retreat. Life is a test by fire. Can we know what choices we will make when the time comes? Surely not. But can we fight in the present, ruling the time we have now to be too precious? That, my friend, is the question we should be asking ourselves. _

: : :

Monica and Lyle  
New Orleans, LA

Company agents Monica Dawson and Lyle Bennet drove down Jackson Avenue with a Synthetic thrower in their trunk.

"Why do you get all the notoriety?" Lyle asked from the passenger seat.

"I'm a hooded vigilante with cunning acrobatics. A guy in a gray suit with a taser ranks a bit lower on the notability scale. It's your job to blend in. But if it's important to you, I could start advertising about my sidekick."

"_Sidekick_?!"

"What can I say? You lack style."

"Style is overrated. I've got competence. Doesn't anyone remember who trained me?"

"You're new, Bennet. Why do you think your nickname is Peach Fuzz?"

"Peach Fuzz?"

Monica's face reddened. "Did not realize that was a secret."

Lyle sat dejectedly in his seat.

"Lyle, what we do, we've gotta do under the radar. All those civilians out there? They think these shots are just the newest trend. And that the whole 'the next step in evolution' slogan is just clever advertising. We've got to protect people from themselves. That includes our friends and our families and, heck, our leaders. You know _the President _thinks that he's paying for me to go to college?"

"The President is my sister's biological father. It kind of detracts from his mystique."

"The guy's my grandmother's nephew's wife's sister's husband. We practically have brunch every Sunday."

After a brief silence, Lyle asked, "So, is Carlson always like that?"

"Yeah, one of the results of being the boss, I guess."

"You would think she'd get us a flashier car than a three-year-old Toyota Camry."

Monica had to chuckle at that. "Not that I don't think that St. Joan should have some kind of flashy convertible, but you got to admit, it's reliable."

A tire popped. Monica cursed. She noted suspiciously, "It was a back tire."

Lyle cocked his gun. Monica slipped on her hood.

But before either could react, Lyle lurched forward. Blood began to stain the front of his white dress shirt. Behind him, there was a bullet hole through his seat and into the back seat.

Monica cursed again and opened the door as a metallic-sounding burst came from the trunk. The trunk hood opened and Daniau scrambled out, his hands surprisingly free of the handcuffs. He took one look back the hooded St. Joan and raced off. Monica merely tossed her dagger using the aiming she'd learned from him. The knife inbedded itself into the back of his head and Monica glared from behind as Daniau's body fell forward.

She raced over to the other side of the car and found Lyle gasping for breath. She peeled off her sweatshirt and pressed it against Lyle's wound. She slipped her iPhone out of her pocket and called home base.

"Carlson? This is Dawson. The target attempted an escape. Bennet sustained a life-threatening injury. We need backup. The target's been dealt with."

She hung up and began using the device to open her collection of medical videos. She then got to work trying to keep her partner alive.

Within minutes, a Company medical team and Regional Director Amy Carlson showed up. Handing Monica a replacement sweatshirt, she stared the agent down with a stern expression. Carlson would not at first appear to be an imposing figure. She was barely five-three; perhaps a hundred-forty pounds, with a bob cut of plain brown hair and a face that might be described as cute if she were smiling, which she was not.

"Dawson, how did this happen?"

"The target was unconscious and handcuffed when we put him in the trunk. We emptied his pockets and made sure he didn't have any ammo to throw. We weren't thorough enough and it appears he founds some screws in the trunk to loosen. Don't ask me how he achieved enough maneuverability to shoot a screw into his handcuffs, but he did, at great risk of personal injury, might I add. He proceeded to shoot out a tire and then into the cabin area. He made quick work of the trunk lock and attempted an escape. He got about fifteen feet."

Carlson held up Monica's kris. "I noticed. Pulled this from the back of his head. It pierced his brain stem."

"He deserved as much."

"You flubbed up, _but_ your instincts were good and you handled the situation well. We'll take Bennet to the Company hospital; see if we have any good regenerator blood on us." Off Monica's worried look, she commented, "He'll be fine. You're not getting us to assign you a new partner that easily." She gave a little half-grin to Monica.

: : :

Ando Masahashi  
Tokyo, Japan

Ando put in a lot of effort into blending in. He wore non-descript clothing: a brown jacket over a white shirt with khaki pants. On his cell phone, he replied to a caller, "So, they lost the girl? That's going to make finding him more difficult. Alright, I'm about to enter Yamagato Industries. He can't hide for long."

He smiled to the entrance guard, saying his was an old employee and needed to pick up some forgotten items. He took the elevator to the executive floor.

Once there, he fired several red blasts into the ceiling. In the ensuing chaos, as secretaries ran from their desks and executives hid under their desks, Ando easily made it to the thick wooden doors of the CEO's office. A rather large blast sent them to the floor. He walked in, confident in his entrance.

The CEO was not impressed.

Kimiko Nakamura, clad in an attractive blue pant suit stood at her desk, leaning backwards against it.

In a chipper tone of voice, she asked in her native tongue, "Mr. Masahashi, what can I do for you? We've missed you since your left Yamagato to pursue other opportunities."

Ando scowled, "Drop the act, Kimiko. I need to find Hiro."

Still showing no indication that anything out of the ordinary was going on, she replied, "I'm afraid I wouldn't know the first place to find my brother. He and I live in separate worlds now."

"He has stolen your father's half of the formula. I fear he has malicious intent for it."

"That half of the formula was given to him by my father. That hardly constitutes stealing."

"The formula belongs to the public. It is their right to use it to improve themselves."

"For a price, paid to the Pinehearst Company." She gestured to the pin on his label.

"We have studied the formula for years. We provide genetic tests to assess how susceptible the recipient of the injection would be. We are responsible with it."

Nodding, she stated, "You make a good case, Ando. You've grown a lot these past few years."

"How could I not? If you had any idea what was on the horizon."

"The Broken Earth Prophecies? Oh, I'm quite aware of them. They're all my brother talks about."

"So you admit you have contact with him?"

Kimiko approached Ando, standing very close to him. "And so what if I do?"

Ando inhaled deeply, feeling his head fog. "What's going on?"

"Pheromone production."

"You have an ability?"

"I'm the CEO of a powerful corporation. Pinehearst ships around the world."

"Hypocrite! You criticize us for making money off of what amounts to be a patentable pharmaceutical drug, yet you use your status and wealth to obtain the shot while protecting your brother for subverting that very notion?"

She began to circle him, cat-like. "You have to admit, the power is useful. It's quite a challenge to be a female CEO in Japan, and this has placated my potential usurpers quite capably."

Ando stood resolutely. "You're beautiful enough to do it without the Synthetic help."

"Thank you. I'm impressed by your willpower. A few years ago, I could have had you in bed with a mere flip of the hair. Now, I can inundate your system with my chemical wiles and you stand firm."

"I have a mission."

She laughed, and sat back on her desk, raising a leg invitingly, "You're beginning to sound like him. I'm not telling you where to find him. I love my brother."

"I do not wish to hurt Hiro. He was my closest friend. He's a loose cannon and I'm trying to save the world—and him—from this foolhardy pursuit."

Kimiko ignored him, commenting curiously, "You must have an ability. Pinehearst only employs the out-of-the-ordinary. Show me."

Ando resisted.

"Show me," she whispered.

Ando inhaled deeply, his brain completely fogged over. He held up a tense fist and his hand began to glow with red, cackling energy.

"Beautiful… and dangerous," she admired. "Is it always red?"

"Yes."

She pouted playfully. "Aw, too bad, I was going to take it as a compliment." She turned serious and invaded his personal space again. She whispered in his ear, "Promise me you won't hurt him."

"All I want is the formula."

Kimiko, pleased, pressed her lips against Ando's. Ando sent a blast into the ceiling, knocking out the lights, and illuminating them only by the outside streetlights in the dark night.

: : :

Peter and Matt  
Fort Lee, NJ

Peter woke up again, finding himself not only in the land of the living but the land of the waking.

Peter noted the pin on Matt's suit jacket. "You're one of them." He held out his hand covered in blue flame.

Matt removed the pin and threw it on the ground, "Had to join them to get to you. Trust me; they almost got my wife killed. I have no loyalty to them. Check me if you want; I'll suppress my telepathy."

"No need. Why bring me back to life if you don't want me alive?"

"Walk with me." Matt commented, trying to put ground between him and Pinehearst, "As long as we're being honest, I ought to let you know my original plan was to lock you in a nightmare for your part in hurting Daphne."

"Look, I'm sorry about Daphne, but it wasn't me who went to Sylar's house. It's was my past self from 2007…"

Matt held up his hand to stop Peter, "No, I get it. But I need your help on something…"

"Look, I'd love to help, but the world is in trouble…"

Again, Matt held up his hand, "It's far time you learned that I'm the one who brought that image of the shattered Earth to the U.S. I know it's coming and I do want to stop it. But I _have_ to find Molly first. Once I get her back, you can count on my support. She might be of help, too."

"How can a little girl help me?"

"One, she's fourteen, not a little girl. And two, her ability is to find anyone anywhere."

"Molly _Walker_ is your daughter?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a picture?"

Matt pulled out his wallet. "Yeah, right here, why?"

"I was around her at Kirby Square when I fought Sylar. It means I might have her ability. If you can get me a picture, I can remember how she made me feel, and I can access her power."

Matt reached into his wallet. "And with the picture, you can also find out where _she_ is."

Peter stared at the image. His mind flashed back to 2007. It was a fleeting glance, but he remembered her, huddled with Niki and her husband and their son. All of a sudden, as if the memory had been planted in his head, he could see the location. "Isaac Mendez's loft," he said.

"The murdered painter?"

"He had a loft in Lower Manhattan. I'm getting these images of lab equipment."

Matt nodded. "With the painting of a nuclear explosion on the floor? Mohinder Suresh has a lab there."

"Why would she want to track down Suresh?"

"Because once upon a time, he was her second father."

Peter took a hold of Matt's arm and they disappeared into thin air.

: : :

Angela and Gabriel  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California

Angela led her middle son down a long hallway. She remained silent; Gabriel was unnerved.

"Ma, you're not talking."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear; it's _wonderful_ for you to be back with us at the Company. I hope you realize you'll be expected to use your powers."

"Understood," Gabriel commented halfheartedly.

"I would like you to meet your partner." She opened the door to a two-person office. At one desk, there was a tall, lean man with a conservative cut of dirty blond hair, looking at a folder. He looked up at the sound of the door. He stood up immediately and extended his hand. "You must be Gabe."

"I prefer Gabriel, actually." Gabriel shook the friendly agent's hand.

He smiled amicably. "Fair enough."

Angela bowed her head, "Well, I'll leave you to get acquainted. I have to brief some other agents."

Ryan at once mentioned, "So, I wasn't permitted to look at your file. You used to work here?"

"A couple of years back. I had a kid and wanted to stay home with him."

He nodded with understanding, "By the way, you called Mrs. Petrelli 'Ma' back there. Is she your mother?"

"Yes, she is."

"Sorry for prodding, but your last name's Gray?" He indicated the nameplate on Gabriel's new desk.

"Angela is my biological mother. I was adopted out as a baby."

"So, I've gotta ask. There's this blond woman who's name is Gray."

"My wife."

"Oh," he seemed genuinely surprised.

"I'm guessing you're wondering about her… off-kilter reputation?"

Attempting to seem as non-threatening as possible, Ryan defended, "I'm not judging."

"No, it's a valid point. I was Elle's redemption and she was mine."

"If you don't mind me asking: I'm a 'one of them,' so I'm assuming you have some sort of ability?"

"They call it 'intuitive aptitude.' It's a fancy way of saying I understand how things work."

"Interesting…" he asked in a baiting tone.

"I can tell that the battery in your wristwatch is at 17% capacity, and you're losing 12 seconds a year. I can tell by your demeanor that you were raised in the Midwest, but have spent a number of years in Los Angeles. I grew up in Queens and have never owned a car but could fix yours faster than any mechanic. In fact, I could take it apart and rebuild it piece by piece." Ryan looked rather impressed. Gabriel continued, "My ability also allows me to develop the abilities of other evolved humans. You'll notice I'll use telekinesis a lot."

"You're like a mimic?"

"Kind of. To learn a new ability, I have to look at the brain. It's rather fatal."

Ryan looked like he was desperately hoping his new partner was pulling his leg.

"I used to have a bad habit of slicing open people's heads," Gabriel hinted.

"Sylar…"

"For what it's worth, I'm about 93% reformed."

"Well, it's a lot to process, but I guess I can deal."

This genuinely surprised Gabriel. "Seriously?"

"Look, I'm a big believer in second chances. Once upon a time, I was going through a pretty dark time in my life, and a special pulled me out of it."

There was a knock at the door. Elle stood behind Bess Detskij. Detskij was a tall woman, towering over Elle, with long, straight, brown hair, in top physical shape, and with a rather commanding demeanor.

In a voice that couldn't hide her Russian roots, Detskij stated, "Agent Gray, Agent Covington, looks like we'll be teaming up today. We've got a report of two evolved humans reeking havoc in downtown LA."

Gabriel was genuinely surprised, "They're letting us work together?" He indicated his wife, who waved cheekily.

"I'm surprised they're letting you work at all, Sylar."

"I prefer to go by…"

"I know what you prefer. Doesn't bring your victims back to life."

Bess turned face and marched out. Elle gave Gabriel and Ryan a come-on head tilt.

"Take-charge woman. That's an attractive trait."

"She's my wife," Gabriel challenged.

"And you are a man in love. I meant the Russian."

: : :

A/N: Seriously, you can't have a Monica plot without pimping Apple, can you?

I'm glad people like the Monica/Lyle partnering. I thought having him follow in his dad's footsteps was a good storyline for him. Now, he's not HRG, Jr. yet. For one, his eyesight's fine—not glasses necessary. Also, he's eighteen. You're seeing the very start of his career. Partnering him with Monica was a good match.

**hana** wanted to know if Noah was going to learn to control his powers. Yes, as well as 3-year-old can. Also, he has a very reactive power, but if there was a Tracker Profile on him, there would be a long note that mentions that his adaptive resurrection allows him to evolve powers. For example, he has obviously evolved electrical absorption in response to being gestated by Elle. Being killed by a super-thrown table and then blown up has given him a measure of super-strength and exoskeletal durability. Someday, he'll be a very powerful hero… or villain?

So it's my new thing to cast my original characters. For Bess Detskij, the actress I had in mind was someone I'd seen on _Criminal Minds_ once, playing a Russian woman involved with the mob. Turns out she's a Polish actress by the name of Olga Sosnovska, who I came to find out had already appeared on _Heroes_ this season in a bit part as Angela's aide. So, her becoming a 'One of Us' agent was feasible. Then I discovered that she's married to Sendhil Ramamurthy. If that's not fate, I don't know what is.

For Ryan Covington, I'm going to go with Chris Carmack. I dug the character up from a _Heroes_ graphic novel. And for the role of Amy Carlson, I would cast Marissa Jaret Winokur.

Started 11/6/2008. Finished 11/11/2008.


	9. The First Domino

The World Entire, Chapter 9  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Nathan has a visitor. Dr. Zimmerman starts his most important experiment. Peter and Matt help Mohinder concoct a plan to save the world. The LA mission gets hairy.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: You should see the notes I have for this series. I've got charts and diagrams and a timeline and meticulous plans. Right now, there's about fourteen chapters allotted and I'm sure as more material floods my brain, that number will grow. All the Founders want to appear in my story. And flashbacks usually demand that I have young Heroes appear. Plus, all your reviews help me direct the story. It's like lightning in a bottle.

: : :

Chapter 9: The First Domino

_Eschatology is the study of the end of the world. The nature of the end differs among religions. Most major religions predict a catastrophic destruction of mankind and a physical or figurative burning of the Earth. Mysticism believes that reality will simply dissolve away and our souls will be reunited with the Divine. It is often portrayed so frighteningly that most would assume that it is a disaster that should be averted. But some believe that it is merely an inevitable destination, a metaphysical manifestation of times of change. Regardless, both sides of the debate would agree on one thing: one must prepare, physically, mentally, and spiritually. But that begs the question, why haven't we already started? _

: : :

Nathan Petrelli  
The Oval Office  
Washington, D.C.

Nathan sat at his desk, reading through yet another Synthetic ability registration act. This was the fourth one to land on his desk, each one written in less threatening language than the last. This one at least made it clear that the information would not be public knowledge but rather kept in a secure database for government and law enforcement on a need-to-know basis.

A secure database that could no doubt be easily accessible to the hundreds or thousands of technopaths and digital communicators and everyday hackers. There was no telling the number of people who could get in. _If only there were a list of people with abilities_, Nathan thought traitorously.

There was a knock on the door and a secret service agent let in a woman.

And there she was: long blond hair, a statuesque figure, wearing her typical skirt suit with pearls, and a womanly smile. "Hey, baby, how are you?" She admired her image in the numerous family photos around the room.

Nathan remained aloof, "I'm well, and you?"

She sauntered over to his desk, sitting on it, "C'mon, the world's not gonna end today. Why don't you show a girl a good time?" She hopped into his lap and rubbed his arm sensuously.

"No thank you, _Barbara_,"

Barbara's face fell. "_Verflixt_, how'd you know? I even wore pearls and suppressed my accent. Is it because I forgot those sunglasses she's in love with? Or maybe it's because of those couple of pounds she can't get off." Barbara rubbed her midriff enticingly.

"My wife is beautiful as she is."

"Then you gotta admit I'm beautiful, too."

"Tracy has the added beauty of not hitting on married men."

"_Blödsinn_, she _bumste_ that senator that got you this job for over a year."

Nathan's hand tightened. "My wife fell in love with me and she has not looked at another man since. So, how'd you trick the telepath into letting you through?"

"I thought Tracy thoughts. I thought, 'Gee, my husband sure is a cutie, but he doesn't hold a candle to that hot black bodyguard he's got. Oh, shit, I think he's the one who could read minds. Think clean thoughts.' Then I proceeded to think _very_ dirty thoughts about said agent. Let me right in."

"And he's fired."

"Alas, I may have to console him. The humanitarian that I am. Is the Lincoln Bedroom open?"

"Out."

"You know where to find me. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you spent all that time at Pinehearst just because you wanna see me."

"It's been great chatting with you, Barbie."

"Don't care me 'Barbie'," Barbara hissed.

Nathan noticed that the room began spinning rapidly. All at once, he felt an intense sense of vertigo. He gripped his desk to maintain balance as the colors of the room oversaturated. The light from the windows became blinding. He closed his eyes, the feeling not fleeting, and began to concentrate.

Tracy toppled over and suddenly screamed. "_Hurensohn!_ Nathan, I was gonna stop soon. You know that it whiplashes me when you fight back."

Groaning, Nathan commented, "Why else would I do it?"

"Well, have fun screwing with the free world. I've got work to do."

As Barbara left, a tall, African man walked in before the door could close.

"Mr. Usutu, what is it?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. President. You have to see this." He held up a picture of a nuclear explosion.

"I'm getting really tired of pictures like that. Where is it?"

"I saw other buildings. They look like mosques. It was desert."

"The Middle East."

"Iran, maybe. Or Syria. That would be my guess, sir."

"It's funny. I find myself hoping that they're actually nuclear bombs, rather than the alternative. Well, Usutu, look like we're making history."

: : :

Susan Amman  
Cooper University Medical Center  
Camden, New Jersey  
1973

Alice Lartier lay back on the examination table as Dr. Amman pulled a ultrasound machine over. Amman was a tall woman, beautiful, with strong features and long, blonde hair, perfectly styled. Unlike her, 23-year-old Alice was of medium height, with jet black hair that she could never get to sit right. With two bare fingers, Amman rubbed the ice-cold gel on Alice's stomach.

"Shouldn't you be wearing gloves?" Alice asked.

"Typically I would, but with what we'll be doing today, I need all the dexterity I can manage. No worries, I washed my hands twice. I'm more sanitized them some surgeons." Pressing the transducer probe to Alice's stomach, she pointed to the screen. "You see that pocket there? That's where we'll be implanting the embryos."

"Are you sure this is safe? I've been doing research. The first time they ever tried this was less than a year ago in Australia. It didn't take with that woman."

Amman smiled comfortingly. "This is not Australia. And one year is a lot for medical science. Look, I've explained the procedure. We'll implant four of your fertilized eggs into your uterus. And if we're lucky, one of them will take. If not, then you're not out anything. Your procedure was paid for by a generous benefactor in Nevada. You can continue to try with your husband if it fails."

Alice nodded nervously.

"Okay. Now I'm going to bring in a college of mine. His name is Dr. Zimmerman. He'll be implanting the embryos vaginally."

"He? A man…?" Alice asked, crossing her legs.

"Unfortunately, he's the only doctor in the region will any expertise in this field. I assure you he's a complete professional. He's happily married with a four-year-old son."

Amman invited a man in from the door. He was a kindly-looking man with wire-rim glasses and wavy brown hair. He greeted her in a warm, German accent. "Shall we get down to business, yes?"

Amman sat down beside Alice and gave her a forced smile, "I'm going to be here throughout the procedure. I'll be holding onto your stomach to keep you still." She immediately laid her hands on Alice's stomach, with the probe in one hand, and turned her head to watch the ultrasound monitor.

Dr. Zimmerman brought out a device, which looked like a cross between a hose and turkey baster; it looked too long for its purpose. Alice tilted her head back and tried her best to see the far wall. She began trying to read the diplomas on the wall up-side-down. She felt Zimmerman spread her legs, reach below her gown, insert the device, and after some words exchanged between him and Amman that Alice didn't catch, he removed it after only a few moments.

"Dere, not so bad, yes?" Zimmerman asked.

Alice agreed sincerely. Amman pointed to the screen. "See that?"

Alice saw but one bubble-looking object on the black-and-white screen. Amman kept her hands on Alice's belly. She watched as the single dot seemed to connect with some cove-shaped indention in the walls of her uterus.

"I only see one embryo." Alice commented.

Amman, who didn't pull her eyes away from the monitor, replied distantly, "The others are on top of one another or out of focuse. We're just seeing a 3D space projected onto a 2D field." She concentrated on her hands for a moment. Suddenly, on screen, the single bubble seemed to split into three.

"Are the cells dividing?"

Amman replied, against distantly as she watched the screen, "No, the embryos are already multi-celled. It looks like the blastocysts are clumped together."

"Did it work?"

Noncommittally, Amman answered, "It looks promising, but we won't know for a few days where they successfully implanted." She finally looked back at Alice. "You sit tight. Let the embryos settle. I need to speak with Dr. Zimmerman in private for a few moments."

Amman led her colleague out.

"What told her was pure _Blödsinn_… rubbish."

"It sounded good enough if she does amateur research."

"Dere are three?" he asked.

"I've only done twins before. Three's as many as I'm willing to risk."

"No, no, it is fine. And dey will be identical?"

"Every time I've done it before, the children have looked identical. Same blood type. Same eye color. Same food allergies. Same hereditary conditions. So unless they come up with a way to compare two people's DNA, I can't say for sure."

"And dey will be special? As you are?"

"I got the eggs from… a human with abilities, yes. You're the one who's done all the research on inheritance."

"I 'ave just done the reading about it. Dere is a doctor in India with some very promising results." Zimmerman looked into the room. "Will she not be surprised when she is discovering that she is to have three babies?"

"I would bet so."

"What will happen to 'er?"

"Unfortunately, I don't know if she'll survive the labor. She'll need a C-section and with her blood condition… well, it'll be a tragedy."

"And dee babies?"

"One will go to our generous and clueless benefactor in Las Vegas, Mr. Sanders. One will go to Senator Strauss for his legal protection. And the third, we'll let you keep."

"Vhat? _Himmelherrgott!_"

"Talk it over with Anna. I'm sure she'd love a little girl."

"You know dat dey are female already?"

Amman nodded. "This ain't my first rodeo, pardner."

"I do not know what dis means."

Amman just laughed. "Congratulations. We're making history."

: : :

Peter and Matt  
Mohinder's Lab  
Brooklyn, New York  
2011

Peter and Matt appeared in Mohinder's lab just in time to see some sort of snake creature in front of Molly. Matt raced to her side, using his ability to mentally attack the creature. He grabbed his daughter and pulled her away as Peter sped in front of the creature and lit up his hand with blue flame to threaten the creature. The snake being merely leapt up and hung to the wall.

"Peter, no! It's Mohinder!"

Peter looked up. Mohinder leapt from the wall, somersaulting and landing flat on his feet. Getting a closer look, he was floored.

His eyes had yellowed and his pupils had merged into slits. His hair was gone. His back and the outsides of his arms were covered in large, flared scales. The scales were even more pronounced on his hands, completely covering them.

"Your hair!" was Molly's only comment. "It was so pretty and curly and black."

Mohinder laughed at that. It was the first time he'd laughed in a very long time.

"Look, buddy," Matt commented, "sorry I didn't recognize you. You could have told me this is why you didn't want to get back in Molly's life."

"I was an arrogant fool. I thought I could…"

Peter touched Mohinder's shoulder. "Mohinder, I get it. Look, Synthetic abilities, they're going to cause problems." He pointed to the floor, at Isaac Mendez's rendition of New York being blown up. "This would be a house fire compared to what's going to happen if we don't find away to remove people's abilities. Look, you were _this_ close to solving it. Maybe you can make an antidote."

Matt added, "You could even fix yourself. I know it's what you're thinking about."

Mohinder proclaimed, "It's not that easy. I got the formula wrong and see what it did to me. Even if I were to create an antidote, how could I test if it worked?"

"We'll find volunteers. Or recruits," Peter suggested, "Or you can experiment on me if it comes to that."

"It'd be better if I had access to the right formula."

"If I could do that," Peter stated, "could you produce the antidote?"

"Theoretically, yes, but that still doesn't solve the problem of distribution. People aren't going to volunteer to have their abilities removed. And Pinehearst, the maker of the shots, owns the Presidency, meaning we can't go through the government."

"Then that's a problem we'll have to solve later," Peter stated, "But now, I've got to go get you that formula." He turned to Matt's daughter. "Molly, I need a favor from you." Peter went to the computer.

"I don't think it works anymore. And there's no electricity here."

"Not a problem." Peter yanked the cord from the floor and held it in one hand and laid the other against the computer's tower. The computer booted up quickly.

"Can you find me him?" Peter remarked about the picture on screen.

"Get me a map. A world map," Molly replied.

: : :

Lyle and Monica  
Primatech Medical Facility  
New Orleans, Louisiana  
2011

Lyle Bennet lay in a hospital bed, unconscious. Beside him, an IV fed him a blood transfusion.

"What's the deal?" Monica Dawson asked her supervisor, Amy Carlson.

Carlson replied, "We didn't have any natural blood on us. It's a Synthetic's."

"Then he's gonna scar over."

"He's gonna live."

"How long's he gonna be like this?" Monica asked.

"It's going to be a few days before he recovers. You know Synthetic bloods slower."

"But there's going to be lasting damage?"

"The screw pierced a lung. A couple of years ago, he wouldn't have survived the trip to the hospital. Now, all he'll experience is some chest pain. For a few months, he'll have minor breath issues. The scar, of course. I wouldn't recommend too much running in his future."

Aghast, Monica commented, "He's an agent. He's eighteen. You can't tell him not to run."

"You're taking this hard."

"Read my file. Somewhere between being a big sister and raising my brother after my mom died in Katrina and then raising my cousin when he mom died and… I don't like it when people get hurt on my watch."

"And that's what makes you the best agent in our division. C'mon, Dawson, I've got a job for you. I need you to train the new guy."

Nodding, Monica followed her boss out of the room.

Meanwhile, a figure with a gun eased the window open into Lyle's room.

: : :

Cris and Doug  
Downtown Los Angeles, California

The car that pulled up didn't look like a cop car to Cris and Doug. The four people who got out certainly weren't dressed like street cops. They wore suits. Two of them, the brown-haired woman and the blond guy, hid behind their doors and pulled out pistols. The other two, a tallish dark-haired man and a petite blond woman, boldly approached the two. They obviously had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

: : :

A/N: You know, I think I've outdone myself for showing the characters in their youth. I just gave you _embryonic_ Niki, Tracy, and Barbara.

So, I had a huge fight scene planned for Gabriel/Elle/Bess/Ryan, but it needed work, so you got the teaser. It'll show up next time. Also, Peter will be igniting the war against fate. Mr. Linderman will be appearing. And there'll be a surprise returning character that I'm sure a lot of us miss.

Started 11/4/2008. Finished 11/12/2008.


	10. The First Step

The World Entire, Chapter 10  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Gabriel's first assignment pairs him up with his wife as he scuffles with a couple of powered menaces. Peter enlists help in the approaching war. Years ago, Linderman is asked for a favor. Angela hires a new agent.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: I hope you readers know how good you've got it. I was going to put this off because of "I'm Broken", but I had the time and energy to do both.

: : :

Chapter 10: The First Step

_War and religion have always been bedfellows. The Greeks and the Romans prayed to their gods for favor during wars. The God of the Old Testament was a Warrior God, smiting the unrighteous. Middle Age knights were warriors of the Church, crusading against Moslems and pagans. Of the Four Horsemen the Apocalypse, one is a Conqueror and the second the embodiment of War. Every species fights for land, for resources. It is the very foundation of evolution: persevere or perish. When the lines are drawn, will we have it in us to slaughter our fellow man? Will we join hands with our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers, our sons and daughters, our husbands and wives? And when the last enemy is slain, who will be left standing? The righteous? The mighty? The lucky? And will it be worth it? God save our souls, for we cannot. _

: : :

Cris and Doug  
Downtown Los Angeles, California

Doug and Cris stood side by side on the outdoor basketball court, watching the four agents exit their car. Two of them, a tall blonde guy and a tall brunette woman hid behind the doors and pulled out their guns like police officers. The other two, a tall, dark-haired man and a petite blonde woman, boldly walked toward them.

Doug, being closer to the blonde, knelt down and pressed his hands into the concrete. The surface began to ripple. Elle suddenly lost her footing and began to sink into liquefied concrete. She didn't let this stop her from sending a burst of lightning to knock over her attacker. He recovered quickly, now ready for a fair fight.

Cris stared down the dark-haired man. He had the most annoying grin on his face. Gabriel raised his hand and Cris was airborne. He jerked his arms to the right and Cris went flying into a chain link fence. Gabriel wasn't expecting him to burst right through as the links shattered like ice crystals.

Behind their partners, Ryan and Bess started firing. The bullet did make holes in their clothing, but were nonetheless ineffective against their skin. Bess's bullets popped like paintballs against Doug and Ryan's shattered like glass against Cris.

The angered Doug melted more of the concrete and the two agents found themselves sinking as well. Ryan used his door to climb onto the roof. Bess began the same process, with Ryan dragging her onto the roof with him.

"Thank you," she said curtly. She raised her gun again and shot Melty in the eye. The bullet melted again, but liquid lead distracted him long enough for Elle, currently knee deep in liquid concrete to stun him with another surge.

Meanwhile, Gabriel was using his telekinesis to launch Kris into any surface he could find: the ground, a nearby building, the basketball hoops. None proved durable enough to cause any sort of damage. Inspired, Ryan leapt off the car and dashed over to his partner, whispering something in his ear that made him smile.

Kris soon found himself jetting straight up into the air.

"Let's see what happens when he tries to crystallize air." Gabriel ceased using his arms to hold Kris up and lifted his wife out of the puddle.

He didn't get very far when a number of thick icicles rained down upon him, one impaling his head.

Ryan and Bess ran to the car. Ryan surveyed the predicament, but Elle was already racing over to her husband, covering her head. She began yanking blood-covered icicles from his head. Gabriel began to heal immediately, but not before Elle found herself sinking into the cement again.

"Don't you give up?!" she screamed at newly awakened Doug. She shot several bolts of lightning, making Doug dance.

"Missed!" he taunted.

Elle fired again, shocking him in the ankle and causing him to fall onto the soft concrete. Halfway through rolling himself out, he found the surfact concrete re-hardened. And ice cold. Gabriel stood by with a hand hovering above the puddle and a grin on his face. His smile fell when Elle stuck both hands into the concrete.

Noticing the telltale furrow of her brow, he exclaimed, "Elle, don't!"

But blue sparks lit up the pond and both parties were rendered unconscious.

A crinkling noise in the background alerted the agents to the return of Kris. There was now a deep hole in the middle of the court. Cris climbed out, unharmed, brushing off the bits of concrete stuck to his clothes.

Seeing Gabriel too distracted by his wife, Ryan raced toward the criminal. He fired a few shots into his shoulder, which of course shattered. Once close enough, he punched the man in the jaw, causing Ryan's knuckles and several layers of skin to shatter on impact. He screamed out, stumbling back. Bess caught him and laid him down gently. "Idiot," she muttered under her breath. Cris looked menacing at her, but she briskly stomped on the side of his knee, which made a painful breaking sound. "See, shattering's no fun when it's _you_.

"Bess, I'd move," Gabriel's voice came. His hand was aglow with radiation.

Bess pulled her gun on him. "The last thing we need is another Costa Verde. California is going to start looking like a pot-marked teenager."

"Fun science fact," Gabriel stated, oblivious to her comments, "plasma isn't very easily crystallized." He punched Cris hard across the face. It was a glancing blow, knocking him out but causing only bright red first-degree burns on his face.

Gabriel's fist faded. He walked back over to his wife. Using his abilities, he remelted the concrete and floated her out. Holding her in his arms, he patted her face until her cheek sent a shock back. She opened her eyes, smiling. "We make a good team."

Bess cleared her throat and Ryan tried not to look slighted.

"It was a _very inclusive_ 'we.' Geez." She sighed, looking up at her husband's face. Her eyes then turned downward to her own body. "Bastard got goo-ified cement all over my new pants. He's going to pay for that."

Her teammates just nodded in agreement.

: : :

Peter and Molly  
Mohinder's Lab  
Brooklyn, New York

"Can you find him?" Peter remarked to Molly, pointing to the computer screen.

"Get me a map. A world map," Molly replied.

Mohinder noted, "There's a world atlas…" He ran to the bookshelves, his spiny hand brushing against the spines. He pulled out the needed book.

Molly flipped through pages and stopped on one. She pointed. "He's here."

Peter took a quick look over her shoulder. "Okay. Wish me luck." And he was gone.

"Luck," Molly offered. After a few moments of awkward silence, she added, "So, it's a bit of a family reunion."

Mohinder, trying to loose as un-menacing as possible in his current state, stated, "I heard you got married, Matt. Congrats. And a baby. _Badhae_."

Again, there was a lull in conversation.

"I'm fourteen now," Molly commented to Mohinder.

"Wow," Mohinder said, "they grow up so fast."

Matt just nodded.

Another silence filled the room. Matt studied Mohinder and noted, "Dude, you really screwed it up the formula, didn't you?"

Examining his hand, he agreed self-deprecatingly, "Quite."

: : :

Hiro and Peter  
Kirishitan Cathedral  
Ikitsuki, Japan

Peter Petrelli teleported inside of the antechamber of an empty church. The first thing he noticed was that the walls were covered in diagrams hand-drawn onto newspaper and miles of colored string attached to the wall.

"This must be the place," Peter commented to himself.

He suddenly found himself face to face with the tip of Hiro's blade.

After a moment of recognition from both parties, Peter asked, "Could you slice my face along the other diagonal? It'd be nice to be symmetrical again."

"Peter Petrelli," Hiro greeted, his Japanese accent all but gone. "How did you find me?"

"Molly."

Hiro appeared pensive for a moment. "Wait here." He disappeared and reappeared almost instantly, holding a manila folder. "Sorry for the wait. Molly Walker? She is a clairvoyant, able to find anyone just by thinking of them." He showed Peter a printout of a Primatech profile. He held up a copy of an adoption record. "She was adopted by Mr. Matthew Parkman and a Mrs. Daphne Millbrook Parkman." Hiro's eyes widen as he commented, his Japanese inflection returning, "_Nemesis!_"

"Huh?"

"Sorry. Send Daphne my regards."

Peter looked around, "You've been trying to map it all. _All_ of it."

"Yes. But it's impossible. There's too much information."

"Hiro, I've been trying to avert the catastrophe, too. Is there any chance that we've been stepping on each other butterflies?"

"It's been five years and I still haven't figured out these powers."

"Listen, I've come into contact with Suresh. He thinks that he can create an antidote, but he'll need the formula. Can you steal it from Primatech?"

"Already ahead of you. I stole both parts from Pinehearst few months ago. I've hidden one half here and the other half back in the vault at Yamagato."

"Is that safe?"

"The half here is tucked where only a teleporter can find it: inside of a dead area between the walls." Hiro again disappeared and reappeared instantly, this time with the left half of the formula. "The other is inside a biometrically-locked safe. Only I can open it."

"Get it."

Hiro nodded. He grinned. "It's always us, isn't it, Peter Petrelli? Saving the world?"

"Yeah."

Hiro handed him half the formula. "Here, take this to Prof. Suresh. I will be back with the other half soon."

"I'll meet you back here," Peter answered.

"Why here?"

Peter followed a few strands of yarn, finding the web extended and expanded into the cavernous sanctuary. "It looks like I have some studying to do."

"Maybe we're lucky. Maybe we can beat it."

"Let's hope."

"Alright, Peter Petrelli, wish me luck." He held out a fist, which Peter gladly tapped. And then Hiro was gone.

: : :

Micah Sanders  
MIT  
Cambridge, Massachusetts

Micah began filling an empty fish tank with smoke. He dropped the dragonfly robot inside. It began to buzz around erratically. Micah cut of the smoke. The more the dragonfly flew, the clearer the smoke got until it finally sputtered out and crashed into the glass, leaving the air in the tank hazy but translucent.

Micah nodded appreciatively and held the dragonfly in his hand.

: : :

Paula Gramble  
The Corinthian Hotel & Casino  
Las Vegas, Nevada  
1993

_Angela was right_, Paula Gramble thought, as she found the white-haired and -bearded man, in the kitchen. He was pulling out a tray of pot pies.

"I'm starting to worry about you, old man."

Linderman gregariously approached the woman. "Paula, a pleasure to see you." He held her face and kissed her on the cheek. "Please, you must come and smell this."

She quickly sniffed the pot pie. "They smell like chicken pot pies, Daniel."

Insulted, he replied, "You didn't smell. Smell them again."

Gramble inhaled deeply. "_Turkey_ pot pie," she admitted, "Very strong, so you must have used mostly dark meat." Linderman smiled, watching her but not saying anything, his eyes challenging her to continue. She inhaled again. "Carrots, of course. Peas. Nice touch." She sniffed a couple of more times. "Squash. Butternut. That's risky." She smiled; Daniel nodded appreciatively. "And that cheese you put on top? Too white. Certainly not romano. Swiss?"

"Asagio."

"Excellent choice. Since it's what you want to hear, it's a culinary masterpiece."

"I always knew you'd appreciate good food."

"My mother was a very talented cook."

Daniel studied his colleague suspiciously, "You won't flatter me if you didn't want something."

Gramble's tone turned business-like, "Daniel, I was hoping you could look at a picture." She showed the man a photograph. It was the face of an attractive blond woman.

"I certainly hope you're not accusing me of anything. I swear I don't recognize her."

"She's one of your blackjack dealers. Her names Nicole Sanders and she's 19."

"All right."

"She's one of Susan's girls."

"Ah. Quite a coincidence, her happening to work for me."

"Daniel, you know nothing's a coincidence when I'm involved." She held out another photograph.

"Yes, I know this one. He's one of my construction workers."

"D.L. Hawkins. A subcontractor. Strange that you recognize him and not the girl?"

"Well, I might have hired him and a few of his buddies to perform a… delicate task for me. He usually appears a bit reluctant."

"He's my nephew."

"My apologies. I didn't know."

Paula shrugged apathetically. "It's none of my concern. He's Paulette's boy. I'd expect nothing less."

"Ah. The plot thickens."

"I think that Nicole and D.L. would be good together."

"And, what, you want to play matchmaker? How sweet." Linderman poked his fork into his pot pie, biting into a too-hot bite. "You know, that's the single dreadful thing about these things. They're just too hot fresh out of the oven. Wouldn't you like one?"

Gramble courteously took one, breaking open the crust and allowing the steam to escape. "Thank you. And, no, I want _you_ to play matchmaker."

"I'm a very busy man, Paula."

"Angela is actually the one who brought this to my attention. She believes that their coupling would be essential to the New York Plan."

Linderman froze. "Really? I can't imagine why."

"I got the impression from my conversations with her that it might involve a child."

Daniel set down his pot pie and looked at the two photos. "It could work. They're attractive people. Hopefully open-minded. Did Angela happen to mention how their hypothetical child would be useful?"

"No, but being married to Arthur for so long, it makes a woman hold on to her secrets."

Linderman agreed gravely, "You're quite right. Sometimes I worry about him. Well, thank you for bringing this to my attention. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

"Daniel," Gramble called after him. He turned. "It's good," she said, indicating her pot pie. "But it needs pepper."

Linderman smiled and gave her an appreciative hand gesture.

: : :

Angela Petrelli  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California

"Well, I must say this is a very impressive résumé. How did you come to hear about us, Miss… Hanson?"

Former FBI Special Agent Audrey Hanson sat back in her chair. "Back in 2006, I was put on the Sylar case. I was working with a man named Matt Parkman. He could read minds."

"I know of Mr. Parkman. His father was an old friend."

"Small world," Audrey commented. She continued, "Well, at one point, we tried to raid a Primatech Paper Plant in Odessa, Texas, suspecting them of kidnapping people with special abilities. My boss at the time of course thought I was crazy. When those Evolution shot came out, I put the pieces together. Look, I know the government is trying to fight this outbreak of super-powered criminals. But no one wants to face the fact that the Presidency is in bed with Pinehearst, who _makes_ those shots. Their solution for this outbreak is to inject more people. I figured that if anyone would be able to do real good, it'd be this place."

Angela surveyed Hanson for the longest time. "You're quite right, Miss Hanson. Understand, of course, that we do employ people with abilities. Most of them are Naturals. And we pair our agents up 'one of us, one of them.' This is not a war against specials, Miss Hanson. This is a war against things going out of control."

"I'm on board with that."

"Then, my dear, welcome to the Company."

: : :

A/N: So, I made another chart. It was the "Who's Gonna Die?" chart. So far, seven people are doomed. Two more will probably bite the dust but might be saved by the hand of fate. I've got a list of fifteen who I am forcing myself to keep alive and another ten who I don't have any _plans_ to kill, but whose demises I haven't ruled out completely. Wow, writing gives you _way_ too much power.

Started 11/10/2008. Finished 11/13/2008.


	11. Who We Are

The World Entire, Chapter 11  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Hiro and Ando face off for the formula. Nathan gets frightening news.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly."

A/N: You know those dumb promos where they claim, "Tonight somebody _dies_"? Don't you hate those?

: : :

Chapter 11: Who We Are

_To the outside world, the indigenous culture of the Mexican people might seem obsessed of death. The dichotomy between life and death is central to bull fights. Día de Los Muertos is an annual celebration of the dead. Skulls and skeletons become a ubiquitous motif across the country. While to the uninformed it may appear as if the Mexican people are celebrating something most cultures find sorrowful, the truth is that the Mexican are using the time to pray for and remember their beloved ancestors. The holiday is used in some areas to be a subversive means of criticizing a corrupt and unstable government through the use of sarcastic eulogies. In essence, they have an understanding of the deceased not completely different than the rest of the world: Death is an opportunity to remember the lives of those who are no longer living. What is their legacy? How many people did they touch? How many people did they hurt? Did they die doing what they loved or doing the right thing? Or, even more important, did they __**live**__ doing the same?_

: : :

Doug and Cris  
Los Angeles, California

Doug woke up to a sharp prick to his face. As his senses returned to him, he looked around. It was the back seat of a town car. A gag limited his ability to speak and his hands were encased in a bulbous block of cement with a thin wire running through it. He looked up and saw two of the agents in the front seat. The dark-haired man was driving and the blonde was looking back at him with a rather creepy smile and a pointed finger near his cheek.

Looking at his awakened captive via the rearview mirror, Gabriel announced to Doug, "Welcome back, Dougie boy. Before you even _consider_ about trying to escape, let me explain to you your predicament. What you've got around your hands is some of that cement you melted from the basketball course. Here's a fun fact: the city of Los Angeles mixes iron particles into its cement to increase durability. Those wires sticking out the end? They're attached to my wife's body here." Elle lifted up her shirt, showing the wires taped to her sides along the ribs. Noting that his wife's bra was peeking through, he pushed down her hands. "That's quite high enough, Sweetie." He turned his attention back to Doug. "Were you to melt that cement, the iron particles would align and that block of cement would quickly begin to conduct electricity. On a normal day, my wife can power a small house without breaking a sweat. But, believe me when I tell you, she's capable of much higher voltages. Now rationally, the last thing we want to do is expose you to lethal quantities of electricity. Unfortunately for you, my wife is _not_ rational, and in fact quite sociopathic. And you just happened to have ruined one of her favorite pairs of pants. I would think twice before using your abilities."

"Can I do the other one now?" Without waiting for permission, she shocked Cris's nose.

He mumbled incoherently for a moment before taking stock of the situation. Both his hands were stuffed inside of a plastic bag filled with some viscous liquid and duct-taped together.

"Hello, Cris. I got your name from your driver's license; I hope you don't mind. Now, I just wanted to warn you. That liquid you're had are emerged in? That would be silica gel. By itself, mostly harmless. It's a deoxidizer. At worse causes a minor rash. However, if you were to try to crystallize it, you find it transformed into a most uncomfortable substance: millions of itty bitty little shards of glass. Not only would it be excruciatingly painful, but I have no doubt that you wouldn't even _have_ hands anymore if you tried to pull them out of those bags. Do the smart thing." He winked into the mirror.

Together, both captives struggled around, screaming through their gags.

"I'm not going to be able to take twenty more minutes of this," Elle commented, zapping both of them in the forehead, knocking them both unconscious.

Gabriel looked at her worriedly.

Incredulously, she replied to his unspoken question. "I didn't kill them. The finger was set to stun. I'm saving up for tonight." She grinned brazenly.

: : :

Hiro Nakamura  
Yamagato Industries  
Tokyo, Japan

The first place Hiro teleported was onto the roof of Yamagato Industries. It was a calm cool night, with only a few people walking around in the courtyard below. Peering over the side, he ignored the forty-story drop and checked the balcony outside his father's—make that his sister's—office. It was empty and Hiro teleported there.

The inside of the CEO's office was empty, too. It was dark. He knew Kimiko sometimes like to work very late, but apparently tonight she did not. He teleported right in front of the safe. His handprint was accepted. With a _poof_ of captured air escaping, the door clicked open. Inside sat the formula.

The room was suddenly lit by red light. Hiro cautiously froze time. To his left, alit by his own power, was Ando. His Pinehearst pin gleamed in the light. Hiro then noticed that he hadn't completely frozen time. Ando's energy blast was inching toward him. He reached behind the safe and pulled it down. Once he unfroze time, the tilted safe took the full brunt of the energy attack. For a split second, Hiro was able to see Ando through holes in the safe's walls. Wisely, he teleported away immediately.

Ando pulled out a handheld GPS. On it, a bright blue dot blinked. "The fool," Ando commented to himself, "he teleports one hundred meters away." Ando sent another energy blast into the window, shattering it instantly. He grabbed the fire ladder and slid down, his power blazing to prevent abrasions.

Ando ran into Hiro halfway across a walking bridge.

"Ando, you traitor."

Ando answered gravely, "Hiro, please, just give me the formula and no one will get hurt."

"You even _sound_ like a villain."

"Villains don't say 'please,'" Ando pointed out.

"I will not." Hiro pulled out the blade of Takezo Kensei.

Ando lit up his hand and held it out defensively. "Hiro, don't do this. We can—" The energy ball shot from his hand.

It took Ando a moment to realize what had happened. There was still a bit of Kimiko's pheromones in his body and his vision had been intermittently cloudy while he had waited for Hiro inside of Kimiko's office.

The cobwebs in his mind cleared, Ando ran over to Hiro, finding the man stone-still. He took the formula from his friend's hands, but the ground started to rumble before he could do anything else.

Fueled by adrenaline, Ando raced away as the ground began to shake ever more violently. He took cover under a large tree, gripping tight, praying that no branches would crush him. The rumbling stopped and only leaves had fallen.

As the dust cleared, Ando witnessed the destruction of the courtyard. The bridge he had been on not two minutes before was a crumpled heap of metal. He climbed around the debris as best he could, but he could not find Hiro's body. He turned and was greeted with a more terrible sight. All the buildings, including Yamagato Industries, had collapsed to the ground. He thought of beautiful Kimiko, who he had left asleep on a couch inside her private chambers inside the building.

Filled with grief and fury, he began exploding the larger pieces of concrete that he could find. He felled the tree that he had sought shelter under, watching it crash to the ground in a burning heap.

He noted the formula in his hand. He wanted to set that aflame, too, but he knew better. The formula had to be returned to Pinehearst immediately. It could not be let loose into irresponsible hands, or catastrophes like this would continue.

He knew the earthquakes would close down the airports. Luckily, he would have a private jet waiting.

: : :

Lyle Bennet  
Primatech Medical Facility  
New Orleans, Louisiana  
2011

Lyle Bennet slept soundly in his hospital bed, the regenerator blood filling his system and repairing the damage to his body. Meanwhile, a lone figure entered his room with a gun.

Small, nimble hands disconnected Lyle's blood IV. A syringe was inserted into the open end of the plastic tube and dark red liquid injected in.

Lyle's vital signs immediately crashed, setting off an alarm. He burst awake and grabbed the arm of his uninvited visitor. Pulling her into the light, he found himself staring at his sister.

"Claire?"

"This is the last time I save your ass." With this, she yanked her arm away, fired a shot at the window, and leapt out through the partially shattered window, tearing up her body. Lyle watched her race off into the darkness. At first, she limped, but her ability run quickly returned.

Monica and several orderlies burst in to the room on Lyle's other side, chasing a code blue. But, by then, Lyle's vitals had returned to normal.

"What happened?" Monica screamed. She glanced at Lyle before examining the window and the outside. The outside was still.

Lyle commented, acting wearier than he felt, "I don't know. Someone snuck in. I think the alarm scared her away."

"Her? Did you see her face?"

Lyle paused, seemingly thinking, "No, but they were small. It could have been a guy, but there's no telling. The lights were dim." The last part sounded particular lame to Lyle, but Monica seemed too erratic to catch it.

She pulled down on the collar of Lyle's gown, finding his gunshot wound healed and only a small, bullet-sized bump to show for it.

"Must have been a good batch," he commented, indicating the blood bag that was no longer connected to his IV tube.

Monica surveyed the bloody window again. She deduced, "Might have been a regenerator. Any idea who?"

"We just killed a member of the Poulet gang. Could be revenge."

"I'll round up some suspects."

: : :

Nathan and Tracy Petrelli  
The White House  
Washington, D.C.

Tracy, sitting in a lawn chair, wearing a bikini that was as modest as bikinis could get, held her breath, looking worried as she watched the surface of the large pool before her.

Suddenly, a small head popped out. Startled, Tracy let out her breath. A two-year-old boy smiled and waved at Tracy. "Hi, Mommy!"

Tracy smiled, "Hey, Sweetie. You were under a long time."

"Okay," the toddler replied before sinking back down. His wake zipped across the long pool in seconds.

Nathan Petrelli, sitting in his own chair, surveyed his wife, "Twenty-four minutes and fifteen seconds. That's a new record."

"Well, our son's very good at holding his breath."

"I was talking about you."

Tracy sneered at her husband, "Funny. It's just my luck I'd end up married to a bird and giving birth to a fish."

"What does that make you? A penguin?"

"Keep it up, Mister, and you'll be staring down a polar bear."

Nathan laughed.

Tracy studied her stomach. Her abs were still flat but now on the soft side. "…or a sea cow."

Nathan contradicted her immediately, "Honey, you are extravagantly beautiful. Not many First Ladies make it into _Maxim_'s Hot 100 List."

"That was before Andrew," Tracy pointed out lamely.

With injected confidence, Nathan replied, "I have no doubt you could make it again. Niki had a kid and she made big money as an online stripper."

"Niki had her son when she was 21. She had the bulk of her twenties to get back into shape."

"If it makes you feel better, if you were to start an online stripping site, I would visit it everyday. Though, please, please, _please_ don't. I want to go down in the history books but not like that."

"What? Having the highest approval ratings of any President?"

"Hardy-har-har." He leaned over to kiss his wife.

Nathan was tapped on the shoulder by a man in a suit.

"Marty, what can I do for you?" Nathan asked, removing his sunglasses.

Marty knelt down. "Sir, my apologies for interrupting you, but there's something extremely urgent that needs your attention. Twelve minutes ago, several earthquakes caused extensive damage in one of the major business districts of Tokyo. Their scientists are saying it couldn't have been natural. It was a special."

"Set up a press conference."

"Sir, it's not just that. Our people at USGS sent you this rather disturbing simulation."

"What?" Nathan sat up, worriedly. Tracy followed suit.

Marty laid a DVD player in Nathan's lap. "The scientists stated that a couple more of these artificial earthquakes would weaken the crust along the Pacific Ring of Fire. If this were to happen, the Earth's rotation would start to accelerate the drifting of the plate away from one another. Ocean water would seep in and the problem will compound." On screen, the Earth visibly flattened at the poles. "Scientists in California have found the same damage along the San Andreas Fault because of the Costa Verde Disaster. They say it's almost as if the Earth is beginning to _crack down the middle_." Bright orange lines marked the cracks in the Earth, eerily similar to the popular graffiti image. Then, quite suddenly, one half of the earth jerked away with the gravity of the moon. The two mangled halves started to crumble in on themselves. The moon crashed into one of the parts.

"Oh, Dear Lord in Heaven. Assemble the Cabinet. Now. Drag them out of their homes. Out of the bars. Out of their mistresses' apartments. Get me _everybody_."

: : :

Harry Fletcher  
Franklin & Wilkins Pharmaceuticals  
Odessa, Texas  
1982

Harry Fletcher scowled through the microscope. Once again, his enhanced _Treponema pallidum_bacteria broke down their defenses. Masquerading as cancer research, Fletcher had begun manipulating common bacteria. He was able to give the bacteria _a number of advances, including spiny quills, a tough outer cell membrane, or the ability to "birth" a copy of itself upon dying. But his tests over the years hadn't come to a permanent solution. Over time, the bacteria would simply shed it quills, or the robust exterior would wear away, or the internal copy would be destroyed for materials. _

_One of his lab techs entered the room, knocking. "Dr. Fletcher. You have a package." _

_Fletcher took the brown paper-covered _parcel and smiled as he read the return address. He picked up his phone immediately and began opening the package with a red-hot beam of light emitted from his finger.

"Vicky, it's Harry. I just got a package from you. Is this what I think it is?"

On the other end of the line, Victoria Pratt responded, "Yes, it took quite a bit of fiddling, but I was able to make it so it would integrate itself in the junk DNA. You'll have to let me know how it works."

"So, you've already notified our subjects?"

"They're on their way."

Thirty thousand feet over New Mexico, 11-year-old Jessica Sanders giddily looked out the window. "That's where the aliens landed!" she told her 7-year-old sister.

Niki craned her neck. "I can't see!" she exclaimed.

Their father gruffly ordered, "Niki, be quiet. You're disturbing the other passengers." In actuality, the other passengers were quite amused by the sudden outburst. It was the first time the young girl had made a peep the entire flight and as long as she didn't suddenly make a habit of it, they were quite content.

Jessica unlatched her sister's seat belt. Niki scrambled from her seat into her sister's lap and looked out the window. "Aliens? Really?"

"No," Hal answered, "Girl, get in your seat." Niki knew that voice. That was the voice that came before her dad unbuckled his belt and she would black out and wake up with a sore rear end. So, she slipped back into her seat and pulled out a coloring book and started coloring Sleeping Beauty's dress lime green.

"There really were aliens," Jessica whispered, "The government just didn't want anyone to know." Niki giggled but didn't reply. Their father didn't seem to have heard her.

"You know," Jessica noted, "you're really lucky that you have Muscular Dystrophy. You get to go to Texas every year with all the cowboys. This is the first time I've ever been. I'm glad Mrs. Sears got pneumonia."

Niki actually was never impressed with the cowboys. They wore cowboy hats and boots like they did in the movies, and some of them carried guns, but they were boring-looking guns like policemen and casino guards carried, not fun spinning six-shooters. And the cowboys never seemed to shoot the bad guys, even though Niki counted at least three men with black hats and mustaches last time she'd come. These cowboys also never lassoed any cows. In fact, she'd never seen any cows to lasso. Except for their hats and guns, these cowboys just lived normal people lives in normal people cities (normal except for lack of pretty casinos with neon lights and waterfalls).

Meanwhile, Arthur Petrelli and his 14-year-old son Nathan flew in a private jet. Arthur watched his son with a great sense of pride. Nathan had his eyes glued to the window.

"Everything good, son?" Arthur tried. Nathan was a good kid—make that a great kid—but his head was often in the clouds. _He gets that from his mother_.

"Yeah, Dad, just enjoying the view."

"Maybe you ought to reconsider going into the Navy. I'd be just as proud if you went into the Air Force. You might talk to the copilot. I think he did a few years in the service."

"Maybe," the teen replied mechanically. Nathan had wanted to be in the Navy since his Peter Pan phase, wanting to "fight pirates." Arthur remembered joking to his wife they named the wrong kid "Peter." It was meant to be ironic; Arthur was insistent on the name Nathan for his first heir. Like the Nathan of the Bible, Arthur wanted a son who would stand in the presence of kings and challenge them.

"Hey, Dad, I think there's a fire down there."

Arthur got up to sit by his son. They were a mere half hour from Odessa-Schlemeyer Airport, and were lower to the ground. Arthur could definitely make out the small smoking dot on the landscape. He gave a semi-interested _hmm_.

A hundred and fifty miles behind them, a large 747 roared towards Midland International Airport. In first class, 7-year-old Tracy Strauss sat quietly with her stepmother. The latter was reading _Newsweek_; the former _Highlights_. Mrs. Strauss wore a khaki pant suit, heavily shouldered and with a matching burnt umber scarf. Young Tracy wore a periwinkle, ankle-length skirt over a frilly white blouse.

"Your father is in _Newsweek_ again. He got another medical research bill through Congress."

Tracy looked over. "It's a good picture," she commented, "he looks very handsome."

"He does," the woman agreed, "Are you excited about your last injection?"

"No. Shots aren't very much fun. Plus, it's hot in D.C. now. I have a bunch of pretty blouses with short sleeves that I wanted to wear without an ugly Band-Aid on my arm. Malignicant hyperthermia is a pain."

A day later, in Resada, California, Dr. Zimmerman returned home well past ten o'clock. He found his 7-year-old daughter, Barbara, sitting in an easy chair in the entrance hallway, her eyes barely open. Upon seeing him, she leapt up and ran to hug him around the legs.

"Barbara," he commented paternally, "you should 'ave been in bed hours ago. You 'ave school tomorrow."

"I wanted to welcome you home."

Zimmerman ruffled his daughter's head. "All right, I'm welcomed. Time for bed."

As they walked up the stairs hand-in-hand, Barbara turned to her father and asked, "What were you doing in Texas?"

"I was giving some little girls and boys the special shot."

"Like the one you gave me before you went away?"

"_Ja_. The same one."

Barbara proudly displayed her Care Bear Band-Aid. "It's gonna make me big and strong and fast and smart."

Zimmerman chuckled jollily, "_Ja_."

As he tucked her into bed, she said, "_Ich liebe dich, Vati._" I love you, Daddy.

"_Ich liebe dich auch, mein spezielles Mädchen._" I love you, too, my special girl. He kissed her on the head and turned out the light, smiling.

: : :

A/N: We should petition for a show called _Lil Heroes_. We deserve it since we were ripped off during the Generations Volume. Granted, it violates a number of Laws of TV, namely extensive use of period drama, working with (lots of) children, working with animals (I, for one, would not watch without Puppy Muggles), and need for expensive de-aging makeup.

And I killed Hiro. Sorry about that, but it is _not_ my fault.

Elle continues to be the most fun character to write, followed closely by anyone as a child.

And Nathan continues to sire children right and left. And you thought Sylar had magic sperm.

Started 11/11/2008. Finished 11/15/2008.


	12. What We Have Become

The World Entire, Chapter 12  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Peter and Ando return with the halves of the formula. Audrey gets to know her coworkers.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." Just to be safe, make sure you're caught up with the show. I'm not going to add content from future episodes.

A/N: So, in last night's episode, Gabriel lets Elle electrocute him multiple times because of the anger she feels about him killing her father. He tells her, "I can take it." Then there's forgiveness and sexy moments and bare-chested Gabriel. With a parent watching on camera. Anyone who read "My Firefly" think I deserve royalties?

: : :

Chapter 12: What We Have Become

_Latter-Day Saints, better known as Mormons, believe in a wondrous afterlife for the faithful, becoming godlike in the Celestial Kingdom. To achieve this, they set very strict rules of behavior for themselves, called "The Plan of Salvation." Tobacco, alcohol, caffeine, and other drugs are strictly prohibited, as they are seen as pollutants to the mind and body. They follow strict paths of sexual morality, saving themselves for marriage, as they believe that marriage transcends even death. Mormon men, and women who desire to, are strongly encouraged to serve a proselytizing mission. Who we are and the actions we take define who we will be in the future. Will we seek perfection, knowing that life is too precious to waste, or do we accept who we are, avoiding the slippery slope of denying our true natures for some misguided ideal? One day, in this life or the next, we will stand to be judged, asking ourselves, "What have we become? How did we get here?"_

: : :

Matt and Mohinder  
Mohinder's Lab  
Lower Manhattan, New York  
2011

Mohinder peered over a microscope, looking at blood samples, while Matt studied him. Mohinder looked up, asking, "Matt, are you looking around inside my head?"

Matt's concentration broke. He apologized, "Sorry, man, but I'm getting this weird output. It kind of reminds me of how my turtle sounds."

"You have a turtle?" Mohinder asked, ignoring the main question.

"Yeah," Molly replied, "his name is Darwin Kgosi Leonardo _Geochelone sulcata_ James Maurice Rémy Willie Walker-Millbrook-Parkman."

Matter-of-factly, Matt noted, "I just call him Turtle. He's my spirit guide. My _totem_, so to speak."

Mohinder paused. "Matt, who on Earth let you get your hands on Carl Jung?"

Matt refused to be distracted, "Mohinder, something's strange about your brain."

"Maybe you should read some Freud, too. It's called the id."

Matt's brow furrowed. "Like the comic strip?" Seeing Mohinder's trick, he noted, "I don't hear the Id in anyone else."

Mohinder sighed. "It's the transformation, all right? It's evolving me. My enhanced senses and strength, they make me more animal. And my brain is compensating with a larger limbic system."

Peter appeared before the conversation could end. In his hand, he held half the formula.

"Good job, Peter," Mohinder congratulated, taking it. He noted the torn edge. "This is only half." He traced where the rest of the chemical formula should be.

"I know. Hiro should be here with the other half soon. Can't you start?"

"I can do a little. It's the _right _side of the protein chain that I got wrong, but I'll be able to conjecture about nucleotide bonding along this main chain of carbons…"

Matt's cell phone rang while Mohinder continued to explain the importance of the formula, in increasingly denser biological terms. Matt chose to answer his phone. "Hello? What? No, she should still be there. She's on the overnight program. What do mean my wife picked her up? My wife is in a coma!" Matt hung up. To Molly's worried frown, he noted, "It's Daniella." He dialed the hospital. He handed the phone to Peter. "They can't know it's me. Say what I tell you."

Peter repeated the words in Matt's head. "This is Dr. Pickaname." Matt scowled at him; Peter scowled back. "Yes, there seems to be a problem with a patient's chart. There's a… Excuse me." He held the phone to his shoulder and commented to Matt, "You have no idea how a hospital works, do you? I'll take it from here." He got back on the phone, and continued speaking to the person on the other line knowledgeably, "Yes, there're a few tests missing from a certain Parkman-comma-Daphne in Neurology. D-A-P-H-N-E. Yes, a CAT scan and an MRI. I see." Peter held the phone to his should again. "They said… that Daphne checked herself out."

"Dammit!" Matt exclaimed, "I knew I should have gone back sooner. I'm being blackmailed." Calming down, he stated, "I'll handle this. I'm the only one who gets to kidnap my own family." He ran out, rejecting Molly's cries for attention.

Peter turned to Molly. "Shouldn't he have asked you to _find_ them first?" He stared at Matt's phone, still in his hands.

"We've been trying for _years_ to get him to not jump into things without thinking them through. Mom says that's _her_ job." Molly concentrates. "Uh-oh. He may be right. Something's blocking my ability. I can find my mom or Daniella."

They turned to Mohinder, who looked up from his microscope at the formula, still talking. "…a hydroxide on the anterior carbon chain is more common, but it might possibly be some sort of nitrogen-based ion. It all depends whether potassium or sodium is the catalyst for the glutamine codon…"

: : :

Charles and Angela  
Manhattan, New York  
1987

"You're too kind, Charles," Angela told her friend, "to let Peter come over and socialize with your daughter."

"'Socialize.' You're too much, Angie," Charles laughed, "Peter's welcome to play with my daughter anytime he likes. Carlos brings his boy around her all the time. Peter's not got any playmates at home. It was a little cruel of you to put a twelve years between your boys."

After a brief pause to let the elephant in the room pass by, Angela countered, "Yes, Nathan was too old to think of Peter as a playmate so much as something to protect. What about you, Charles? You know the cliché about only children."

"Spoiled? I'm a millionaire, Angela; I already had my work cut out for me."

"Well, one day, we'll get together and write a nice parenting book."

Charles laughed heartily again.

"Well, Charles," Angela said, "I've got to go. I'll be back soon to pick him up."

In Charles's daughter, Simone's room, Peter stood shyly in the middle of the floor while Simone used a watercolors set to paint a landscape. Playing on a 13-inch TV sitting on top of her Barbie Dream House was _The Joy of Painting_.

"What'cha paintin'?" Peter finally asked.

"A happy tree," Simone answered.

"It looks like a nuc'lar explosion."

"It's a happy tree," Simone seethed, scowling at him. "Isaac paints good happy trees."

Peter's gut was filled with an unfamiliar discomfort that made him dislike Isaac rather suddenly, which was strange, because until then, he thought Isaac was an okay kid. He didn't talk much. Peter was quiet, too, but he at least seemed to like people more than colored pencils.

Since Simone was content to paint blue exploding trees like the guy on TV whose hair was curlier than hers, Peter wandered back into living room, where Charles was resting in an easy chair. He looked over to Peter and smiled warmly, "Hey, Peter, what are you doing back in here? Is my Simone not playing nice?" He looked over at the clock. "Oh, it's _Joy of Painting_ time, isn't it? She'll be more social in about ten minutes." He coughed heavily for almost a minute.

"Are you okay, Mr. Deveaux?"

"Why, yes, Dr. Petrelli, I am. I'm just getting a little old. My sinuses kill me every time the weather turns cold."

Peter seemed confused by the metaphor and Charles had to laugh at that. "So, tell me, Peter, what kind of movies to do you like?"

"I like the _Superman_ movies."

"You and every other boy. What do you like about Superman? Is the flying?"

"The flying's cool," Peter admitted, looking out the window.

"I like how fast he is. I 'member in one of the movies where he saved Lex Luthor's girlfriend because her aunt was about to be hit by a nuc'lar bomb. He saved everybody; not just the good guys."

"You like people, don't you, Peter?"

"Well, why not?" Peter asked, a little confused by the question, "I mean, some people aren't nice, but you can't not help people because of it."

"I used to be like that. So did your mom and dad. We thought we were gonna save the world. Protect everybody, even the dangerous people. Turns out we could be dangerous."

"You're not dangerous, Mr. Deveaux."

"Peter, I may be a decent fellow, but for a long time I was pretty naïve and sometimes the most good-doing people make mistakes and it still hurts a lot of people. I can go anywhere I want in my mind and I can see the effects of my action."

"I can anywhere in my mind, too," Peter commented.

"Really?" Charles replied, a bit surprised.

"Like my teacher says, you can go anywhere you want if you use your imagination. And reading books does that, too."

Charles chuckled, "You got yourself some smart teachers. God gave you both a heart and brain for a reason."

At this point, right as the grandfather clock in the room chimed the half-hour, Simone came wondering into the living room. "Peter! Come play Barbies with me!"

"I wanna play Superman instead."

Simone rolled her eyes, "_Boys_. I gotta Superman doll in my toy chest. He can save my Barbies."

Peter ran in after her, noting that it was Superman action figure, not a doll.

: : :

Ryan, Bess, Elle, and Gabriel  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California  
2011

"We could have tracked down a bag of Natural blood, you know," Gabriel commented to his partner as they walked down the halls of Primatech.

Ryan looked on with admiration at the scars on the back of his hand. Grinning, he replied, "Synthetic's cheaper. Plus, what's the fun of a good fight if you don't have the scars to prove it?" Turning to Elle's tall partner, he added, "And thank you so much for tending to my wounds in the field."

"You're welcome," Bess replied coolly, allowing her Russian accent to come through to emphasize her point. He continued to smile at her with interest, causing her to turn around and confront him. "Let me make one thing clear, Covington. Back there, we did not have a moment. We do not have chemistry. And there are no sparks between us."

Suddenly, there were sparks between them. Literally, as Elle stuck her hand between them and activated her power.

In one efficient motion, Bess pulled a latex glove from her pocket and used it to twist Elle's wrist and shove it away. "I've doused you for less," Bess pointed out.

Yanking her arm away, Elle pouted. "Ow. Excuse me for thinking you two are cute."

"You're delusional," Bess commented. "Clinically," she added.

Elle made contact with her husband, shrugging with agreement. He mirrored her gesture and they grinned like lunatics at each other.

As they made their way to Angela's office, a new face appeared from around the corner. Audrey Hanson made eye contact with the group and immediately drew a pistol and fired twice. Both shots hit Gabriel square on the shoulder.

Bess and Ryan drew their guns. Elle wasn't so restrained; she fired a stream of electricity down the hall, throwing Audrey into the wall. Bess and Ryan ran down the hall, guns raised, toward her. Elle knelt by her husband. "Baby…"

"I'll be fine," he groaned. "Roll me over."

Elle struggled with the task, but rolled Gabriel on his side, allowing the bullets to fall out of his shoulder.

"I'm gonna need you to pop my shoulder," Gabriel commented, his voice still pained.

Frowning, Elle whined, "I hate doing that." All the same, she grabbed his arm and shoved it back into joint.

"Twist! Twist!" Gabriel screamed, in more agony that before.

Elle twisted and Gabriel sighed with relief. "Barf," she noted.

"I thought you liked pain."

"Electricity's a clean hurt. All this shoving around bones and blood is all… ick."

Audrey woke up to two pistols in her face. She saw Sylar with a blonde-haired woman approaching. To the agents with guns, she explained, "That man is a serial killer named Sylar. I was just trying to…"

"Lady," Bess interrupted, "we know who he is. I'd gladly give you my gun to shoot him a few more times, but I'm actually protecting you from Blondie McBugzapper and Johnny Boy Scout."

"Hey," Ryan proclaimed, "I… haven't been a Boy Scout in over ten years. I stopped at First Class."

Audrey, her head pounded, noted absurdly, "Should've held out till Eagle. It puts you on the fast track in the FBI. Armed services and NASA, too." Seeing Sylar in perfect health, she asked, "How's your shoulder okay? I saw those bullets hit you."

"Little trick I picked up from that cheerleader in Odessa."

"The one who's brains you spattered across the locker room walls?"

"No, the other one, I caught up with my real target a few months later. She survived."

Elle annoyed, brought up, "And, moral of the story, is he stopped killing people. For brains, at least. Now's he a loyal agent of the Company."

"Forgive me for not trusting the woman who electrocuted me into a wall." To Bess, the apparently sane one, she asked, "Who Psychobitch? His girlfriend?"

"Wife."

"Lovely couple. Sorry I missed the wedding. Did you serve hor d'brains?"

"That's a terrible pun," Elle noted to Gabriel.

Gabriel replied lightly, "I wish people would stop assuming I snacked on them. They probably taste like calamari and cabbage."

"He hates calamari and cabbage," Elle felt the need to explain.

"I'll tell the BAU to add that to his profile," Audrey commented sarcastically.

"So, what are you doing here?" Ryan asked, with obvious intent to change the subject.

Angela, coming around the cornered, answered, "Miss Hanson is our newest recruit. I see you've all met."

"She shot Gabriel," Elle tattled.

"She hasn't been through orientation yet, Dear," Angela replied, "Miss Hanson, first rule is, we don't shoot my son."

"_Son?! _ What the hell?"

"Oh, yes, I guess his childhood adoption record would have been sealed. Now that all these silly misunderstandings have been resolved, I'll excuse you for the day, Miss Hanson. See you bright and early tomorrow morning." At that, Angela promptly left.

Bess and Ryan finally pulled their guns away, and Audrey got up with the help of Bess. She approached Gabriel and pressed her finger into his chest. Elle created a ball of lightning and held it up threateningly.

"Sylar, or Gabriel, or whatever you're calling yourself, I want you to know that you're still a killer and no amount of 'redemption' will ever absolve you of your sins."

"I agree," Gabriel replied seriously, "there's more blood on my hands than I will ever be able to wash off. But, you're going to have to learn very quickly, that the world needs my help right now a lot more than it needs for me to be punished for my crimes." With this he walked away, Elle on his arm. Audrey curtly nodded and walked the other direction.

Bess, seeing Ryan preparing her ask her a question she didn't want him to ask, walked away, too.

: : :

Arthur and Ando  
Pinehearst Company  
Fort Lee, New Jersey  
2011

Ando Masahashi unceremoniously burst into Arthur's office. He laid a piece of paper on his boss's desk. Arthur, who was staring out the window, turned and looked at the paper. "This is very good, Mr. Masahashi, but it's only half. Where's the other part?"

"I don't know. Hiro must have hidden it. He died when I took this from him. I _killed_ him. I didn't sign up for that. Consider this my resignation."

Arthur, with an ominous tone of disappointment, replied, "Now, Mr. Masahashi, I think we both know that this is not an employment-at-will kind of position."

Ando lit up his hands. "That's too bad."

"It is," Arthur replied, walking around his desk and briskly taking a hold of Ando's wrist. His hand burned, but began to heal instantly. Ando suddenly felt weak and began kneeling. Slowly, his hands began to dim and Arthur hands began to glow.

Ando screamed and lurched away, his right hand now a cauterized stump which he held to his chest and he writhed on the ground.

"Actually, Ando, I think I'll be granting your retirement." A quick flick of his wrist and Ando's head was jerked abruptly to the side. He stopped writhing.

Flint, who was sitting on a comfortable chair across the room, walked forward. "Dude," he commented, mildly impressed.

"Mr. Gordon, I have a task for you."

"You wan' me to track down the other half of this formula thingie you're lookin' for?"

"No, that's much too delicate of a task for you. But I do need you to get rid off our recent retiree here." He gestured toward Ando's body.

Without another word, Flint created a massive flame and scorched Ando's body until there was nothing left of him besides a large black circle. He looked up to Arthur for approval.

"I was hoping you would take him outside first so I wouldn't need new carpet." Flint looked downtrodden. Arthur added unaffectedly, "But I should have known to be more explicit with you." Flint's mind strained to figure out if he'd been insulted, but Arthur began talking before he could come to a conclusion. "I need you to welcome a guest I'm expecting."

Flint grinned. "Just checkin', do you mean _my_ kinda welcome?"

"Yes, Mr. Gordon, _your_ kind of welcome. He was recently fired."

"And you want me to _refire_ him?" Flint asked, grinning. Arthur did not. "Sorry 'bout the joke."

"No, it's quite fine. Coming from you, it was quite clever."

This put Flint back into good spirits and with a nod, he exited the office.

Arthur picked up the phone and dialed. "Miss Zimmerman, would you come in for a moment?"

A few moments later, Barbara sauntered in wearing a smoldering grin. "Mr. Petrelli, how might I be of service?" She added a suggestive raise of her eyebrows.

Arthur remained disaffected. "Hiro Nakamura would trust only one other person with the other half of the formula. I need you to track down Peter."

"He doesn't trust me," she pointed out, not rejecting the offer.

"Luckily, you look like someone he trusts a little bit."

Barbara removed her Pinehearst pin. "I'll go put on my pearls. I never got a chance to thank you for them."

Bordering on annoyed, Arthur replied, "They weren't a gift. They were a business expense. You'll need to purchase a pair of those gaudy sunglasses your sister seems to like, of course."

"Got'cha, Tiger," she answered, winking, before exiting the room.

: : :

A/N: So, I've got good news and bad news. The bad news is I have to put this series on hiatus. DON'T PANIC YET! The good news is that it's a _temporary_ hiatus, at most a week. See, told you not to panic.

I've hit a creative block on all but one storyline, and I have to flesh out the others before I can continue. Luckily for you, I got sick during the weekend, delaying the hiatus, meaning it coincides with a new episode of _Heroes_. New episodes always spark my inspiration. If you want to help, please review. I'm not holding it over your heads. In fact, by reviewing, you're holding it over _my_ head. Reviews are my kryptonite. I am compelled to please my readers.

I find it's rather fun to write Arthur, too. Scary, too, of course. But fun.

I find it kind of interesting that the Matt/Mohinder/Molly/Peter line is where I'm getting all my humor, but it's the Hiro/Ando storyline that was so tragic. Which is the opposite of how the show plays it.

Also, Sylar and Elle are just so crazy in love and crazy. I'm glad the show's validating my ship.

Started 11/14/2008. Finished 11/18/2008.


	13. An Irresistible Force

The World Entire, Chapter 13  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Claire begins her search for Matt Parkman. Nathan meets the first super-squadron. Audrey gets a partner.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." Just to be safe, make sure you're caught up with the show. I'm not going to add content from future episodes.

A/N: Okay, back from the hiatus. Told you it'd only be a week. So, by the looks of it, this may be anywhere from an 18- to a 22-episode season. Expect episodes every other day or so.

UPDATE: This is the second version of this chapter. For those of you who have already read this, I changed the ending.

: : :

Chapter 13: An Irresistible Force

_In some ways atheism requires just as much faith as theism. To believe so strongly in the complete lack of a higher being takes courage. Sometimes it feels as if we live in an impassionate world. Good people die. Bad people live. No deity with any sense of charity would let such atrocities plague this world. And no devil is malicious enough to allow even a speck of joy into the world just so it can be taken away. What possesses us to believe in a being we readily admit we can't comprehend? What possesses us to deny that Irresistible Force that tries to move the immobile object we call our world? _

: : :

Claire Bennet  
Los Angeles, California  
2011

Janice McHenry opened the door to a petite brunette woman in a pant suit. She looked barely old enough to be out of high school, but had the demeanor of a woman much older.

"Mrs. McHenry, my name is Claire Butler," Claire stated, her eyes chilly, "I'm from the LAPD. We're looking for you ex-husband, Matt Parkman, and we were wondering if he's tried to contact you."

A brown-hair boy of some four years grabbed his mother's leg and stated, "Liar."

With suspicion thinly disguised, Janice asked, "Miss Butler, is it? Is there any chance you're not being completely honest with me? My son is a little lie detector."

Claire bowed her head. "My apologies for the subterfuge, Mrs. McHenry; I work for the Pinehearst Company, Martial Division. Your ex-husband has stolen some very important company property," she stated, "We're just trying to get it back."

"The last time I heard from Matt was when he called to let me know he was marrying that 19-year-old floozy."

Standing straighter, Claire corrected, "Daphne Millbrook was 28 when she and Matt got married. She was a valued, loyal, and capable agent of the Pinehearst Company who worked directly for me."

"'Was'?" Janice clutched the neck of her blouse. "Did something happen to her?"

"She was critically injured trying to apprehend a dangerous subject during the Costa Verde Disaster. She's in a coma, I'm afraid."

With true sympathy, Janice added, "I'm so sorry. For you and for Matt." After a brief moment of internal struggle, she finished, "Listen, I haven't heard from Matt in quite a while. I do get Christmas cards and he gives Tommy a birthday card. He lives in Brooklyn. He used to live there with some man with a foreign name. Like African or Indian or something?"

"Suresh?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"We're of course aware of that residence." Claire stopped dead. "Suresh…"

A phone interrupted her thoughts. After a few moments, her face filled with anger. "Get me there _now_. Have Gordon hold him as long as he can."

A tall, broad man in a charcoal suit suddenly appeared in a similarly-colored blur. He dispassionately put his arm around Claire, who politely thanked Janice before disappearing with him. Janice was left on her doorstep, eyes wide and mouth agape.

: : :

Nathan Petrelli  
The Pentagon  
Arlington, Virginia

Colonel Donald Kendrick escorted Nathan to a practice field a few hundred yards away from the main building. He stood shoulder to shoulder with Nathan. "Mr. President, we've been recruiting Special men and women for the past couple of years. Until now, we've spread them out throughout our ranks, not wanting it to seem like they're any different, just uniquely skilled. This is the first squadron of solely enhanced soldiers."

"I authorized full deployment."

"With all due respect, sir, you're authorization created a new branch of the U.S. Military. The Powered Legion has had to siphon off volunteers from the other branches. Some soldiers don't take kindly to what they feel is deserting their brothers."

"I understand," Nathan admitted, "I was in the Navy for eight years. I understand the loyalty."

Nathan was led to a group of five individuals, who stood at attention in a line. They wore uniforms from a variety of military branches.

Kendrick cleared his throat and a sixth individual faded into vision. "Staff Sergeant Anthony O'Malley, U.S. Army." O'Malley was a very tall, thin man with rust-colored hair. "Your troops," Kendrick prompted.

O'Malley called briskly, "Attention. Roll call."

The first soldier took a step out. He was a well-built, serious-looking man with close-cropped blond hair. "Airman First Class Brock Johnston, sir." He briskly pulled out his arm, his hand still clenched in a tight fist, and bright orange flames emerged from his hand, disappearing just as quickly. He returned to his line.

The next man, a young, dark-skinned man of below-average high stepped out. "Seaman Apprentice Dalton Henry, sir. He turned Sargeant O'Malley, requesting, "Permission to demonstrate my ability, sir." O'Malley gave him the go-ahead. In a series of three short blurs, Henry appeared a hundred feet behind his comrades, far to the right of them, and back into his position, each time appearing in his taut at-attention stance.

The next man, of Mediterranean descent wore a distinctive Marine uniform. "Private First Class George Palladino, sir." He floated about six inches off the ground.

Nodding, Nathan commented, "I wonder if we're related."

Palladino commented awkwardly, "My abilities are Synthetic, sir."

Nathan turned to Henry, the airman, noting, "That would have been an appropriate ability for you."

Henry turned his head. "Sir, it would have been a waste all the years I spent learning to fly a jet." Nathan heartily agreed.

The next soldier was a Cuban woman. "Specialist Belle Ramos, sir. Sergeant O'Malley, sir, permission to demonstrate my abilities."

"Granted," O'Malley replied, pulling a pen out of his pocket. Using three quick hand gestures, Ramos telekinetically lifted the pen, turned it, and sent it flying into a nearby tree.

The last in the line was a man of Korean descent. He stated, "Lance Corporal Harrison Jeong. U.S. Marine Corps, sir." With a nod from O'Malley, he walked over to a cement block, curled his pinkie finger around the wire loop at the top and effortlessly lifted it into the air.

"How heavy is that?" Nathan whispered to Kendrick.

"Well over six hundred pounds," the colonel replied coolly.

Nathan turned to the troops. "The nation thanks you for your service. We are living in a rapidly changing world and you are our answer. Your mission, your duties, your objective has not changed. You are still called to protect the nation. You have great courage to do what you're doing. And your first mission awaits you in California."

: : :

Usutu  
Silver Springs, Maryland

The walls of the large warehouse were covering in canvas. Large sheets of it were attached to metal frames hung from the ceiling by pulleys. Dozens of these mechanisms were suspended around the entire perimeter of the room. Two horizontal rows, completely filled with paintings, were raised high above eye level, out of the way. A third row of canvas, empty except for half of north wall, was low enough to paint upon. Usutu finished painting a picture of Peter Petrelli standing next to some sort of monstrous human. He sighed, took a picture of it with a digital camera, and moved on. Behind him, the camera was attached via cable to a computer, which e-mailed the photo to an address: .

Usutu moved ten feet to the left, pulling with him a cart of paint in plaster bowls. His eyes white, he began to paint anew. Long, yellow hair appeared; flesh tone filled in the face; red colored a dress on a distinctively female form. Deep brown painted Usutu's own form, sprawled on the ground, and more red painted a puddle around his head.

No sooner did he awake and peer at the image did he fall to the ground from dizziness. He rolled on the ground, his hands grasping at the air. He finally caught his paint cart, dragging it down. Plaster bowls crashed to the ground. The bowl carrying the deep scarlet of his female figure landed near his head, splattering the ground around him with red paint.

She studied his paintings and noted his penultimate one, with Peter Petrelli and the monster. Smiling, she thanked the woozy Usutu and left.

: : :

Mohinder, Peter, and Molly  
Brooklyn, New York

Mohinder suddenly looked up from his microscope.

"Dr. Suresh?" Peter prompted.

"Aerosol."

"Yeah, this place does have a distinctive aroma," Peter agreed.

"No," Mohinder commented, "compulsory injections are unfeasible. If we could produce the antidote as an aerosol, we could spray it on large masses of people."

"It could work," Peter commented, "but that's a lot of hair spray cans."

"No, it would require some sort of specialized mechanism. I'm unfortunately not an engineer."

Molly studied Mohinder's back. She pulled out one of the crusty scales and threw it aside with disgust, wiping her fingers off on her jeans. A cockroach scurried across the floor around the discarded scale. "What kind of animals do you have here?" Molly asked on a whim.

Mohinder turned to her with a perplexed expression. "None."

"You have roaches."

"Well, yes, probably spiders and ants, too. It's an unkempt lab. Why?"

"Well, you can climb a wall like a spider; you're super-strong and durable and fast. Do you think that your power is to take attributes from all the bugs and insects around you?"

"Some sort of insect mimicry ability? It's a thought. Are you hypothesizing that that is the source of my outward mutation?"

"Did not mean for this to turn into science class, but yeah. You said you got the formula wrong. No one else's ability changes their physical appearance. Maybe it just lets all the attributes get through. And that's why you're turning into some sort of cockroachy-spider thing."

Mohinder studied his arm again, pulling out one of his scales and disposing of it on the ground with a similar expression to Molly.

: : :

Audrey Hanson and Sparrow Redhouse  
Highway 5  
Longview, Oregon

Audrey, driving a brick red Nissan Altima, turned to the woman in the passenger seat. She was a lean woman of Native American descent. Over khaki slacks, she wore a white shirt, unbuttoned low over a slight bust, and coral red jacket over that. On her right hand, she wore a beaded bracelet with two large feathers attached.

"Sparrow, would you mind if I asked what the feathers meant?"

"Not at all. It is a sacred Hopi traditional dating back hundred of years. They represent the deep-seated belief in not being mistaken for Mexicans."

Audrey smiled but did not laugh. "How did you get in this business?"

"Well, it's a bit of a surprise, you could say. I was a bag-and-tag." She pulled down the collar of her shirt to show the scar on her neck. "But when those shots became available, I saw people taking them for all the wrong reasons. People from back home, people I was _related_ to, started taking them so that they would fit the profile of the magic Indian." She rolled her eyes. "But it went from tasteless to dangerous. A few narrow-minded individuals, thinking they could take retributions…" She waved off the conversation, "What about you?"

"I was FBI…" Audrey began, noticing Sparrow sitting stiffly in her seat. "Got a beef with the government?"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm used to it. People never like law enforcement until they need them."

Lightly, Sparrow explained, "Oh, I'm just a professional protester. When a Democrat's in office, I protest economic policies that rely too much on heavy taxation. When it's a Republican, I protest rampant deregulation of industry. I think wearing fur is cruel and working with PETA is crueler. It's tragic we've never had a black president and more tragic that when we do it might be because of affirmative action. Basically, don't take anything I say seriously. Anyway, you were saying?"

"So, I got assigned the Sylar case a few years back, got wrapped up in this world, and the rest is history."

"Must be weird working with him."

"I prefer to think of it as working in the same office as him. I just have to ask…"

Sparrow was quick to divine, "Elle?"

Slowly, Audrey asked, "How does…?"

"It's a psychology dissertation waiting to happen." She pulled out the assignment file, "So, what are we up against?"

Audrey had read it. "Neighbors say his name is Hugh Ogden. He moved back a few weeks ago and now the ground shakes."

"Earthquake manipulation? That's a priority red. Why would Angela send a couple of rookies?"

"He's not doing a whole lot of damage with his ability, if it is quakes. Let's hope we're not looking at another Yamagato Square."

Hugh Ogden turned out to be a mountain man-looking fellow. He was six feet four inches, burly, with a long gray beard and a penchant for stomping his feet.

Audrey was quick to use her training against him. She leapt from cover point to cover point, finally able to bounce off a tree and kick him square in the jaw while Sparrow distracted him.

He was made of stronger stuff that Audrey's feet. The agent discovered that being a few feet away from tremor-creating feet was not a good idea. Luckily, Sparrow used her concussive screaming to throw him back, right into his log cabin, which did little but anger him more. A leaping stomp shook the ground enough to rattle hundreds of leaves off the street and destroy the agents' car's suspension.

Audrey resorted to her gun but found it impossible to keep a steady hand with the rumbling earth. "A little help here," she pleaded.

Sparrow, flat on her back, screeched out into the trees. Branches rained down around Ogden, who sought shelter behind a wood pile. Carefully aiming, Audrey fired a shot into a tree trunk beside the wood pile. Sure enough, Ogden scurried away, his face and shoulder filled with splinters.

"What the hell, you banshees?"

Audrey tried to calm him. "Mr. Ogden, we're just going to take you on a little trip. We'll study you and most likely bring you back. Assuming you don't prove to be a liability."

"Goddamn IRS can't do that!"

"We're not from the IRS," Audrey replied, holding her gun steady, "Listen, I'm going to cuff you. Against my FBI training, I'm keeping my finger on the trigger of this pistol. You try taking a step and I'm liable to fire at random. God forgive me for whatever part of your body I blow off."

Once Audrey had Ogden cuffed, he thought he'd test her bluff. Sure enough, Audrey's firearm with off and imbedded a bullet in his buttocks. He fell to the ground, cussing a blue streak filled with words that Audrey hadn't heard, even at Quantico.

It also shattered a dying tree across the lawn. Before Audrey's eyes, a long strip of wood fell from the sky and impaled Sparrow through the shoulder. Pistol-whipping Ogden for good measure, Audrey raced over to her partner. The strip had gone through the shoulder joint, exiting through the base of her arm. Blood poured out of the wound.

Audrey pulled a knife out of her calf holster and shredded both her and Sparrow's jackets. She wrapped the cloth all around the offending impalement, closing off the blood supply with a makeshift tourniquet. A no-signal indicator on her cell phone taunted her.

Finding their vehicle out of commission, Audrey carried her partner down the hill until she reached the base, offering her a splendid view of the landscape, dotted by something more beautiful: a cell tower. She called 911.

Hours later, she called the office, surprised to find Angela still at her desk past eleven. "Her arm's never going to be the same. The wood destroyed her shoulder joint. No, it's some Podunk county hospital." A nurse scowled at her and Audrey scowled back. "All they had was Synthetic blood. Healed the wound up pretty nice but Lord knows it won't set right. No, they couldn't. She could have bled out before some Natural blood arrived. Plus, it's past the six-hour threshold." She paused to let Angela speak, growing angry. "Well, you know what? Maybe you shouldn't have paired me up with someone with three months experience." She hung up.

When Audrey turned around, Sparrow was frowning at her. Her arm was in a sling.

"It's not you," Audrey tried to explain. She sighed, "How are you?"

After a steely silence, Sparrow's face softened. "It hurts like hell. Am I on desk duty?" Audrey nodded sympathetically. "Damn, I knew it. Thanks for saving my hide. Like five times."

"Six. You got about two pints of good ol' Hanson blood in you." She slipped the shoulder of her blood-stained shirt to show a bandage on her upper arm.

Sparrow smiled. "Thanks again. How's Ogden?"

"A little worse for wear, but Angela sent Meredith and Vic up to retrieve him. They'll be down to take us home after that."

"Should have sent another team besides us?"

"Sparrow, I get the feeling that we're fighting a losing battle. I just heard on the news that as of today the world is 50% Special. Something's gotta give. Let's hope it's not the world."

: : :

A/N: I was smart to take a step back and allow a couple more plots to crop up. Last week, I kept finding myself with too few story arcs to develop. It turns out when storylines intersect and diverge, sometimes a couple of characters are lost when the dust settled. For example, anyone notice that we haven't seen Meredith in _forever_? I hadn't. The Gabriel/Elle team-up made me completely forget about the other Company agents.

UPDATE: So, I unkilled Sparrow. Frankly, I liked her character too much and thought her death was poorly done. And I could not nail down Audrey's grief or anger in this chapter or the next, so I retconned it away. Sparrow is saved and I'll give her a subplot later on.

Started 11/21/2008. Finished 11/24/2008. Updated 11/27/2008.


	14. An Unbreakable Loyalty

The World Entire, Chapter 14  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Matt attempts to rescue his wife and daughter. Peter and Mohinder get a visitor. Audrey meets her new partner.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." Just to be safe, make sure you're caught up with the show. I'm not going to add content from future episodes.

A/N: So, sorry about the delays. The rework of Chapter 13 took some time, and Thanksgiving also delayed my writing time. But the advent of a Friday gave me time to finish this.

: : :

Chapter 14: An Unbreakable Loyalty

_A cult religion is defined by a religious grouping outside the mainstream that is regardless as dangerously obsessive to its members by the outside world. A cult is often accused of mind control, isolating its adherents from the outside world and emphasizing an oversimplified solution to their problems, often being the religion itself. Of course, most groups labeled as such reject the negative connotation of the term. Such blind loyalty can be dangerous, but where is the line drawn? Christianity and Buddhism emerged out of Judaism and Hinduism as small, devout sects. And armies utilize similar tactics to bring unity and a sense of brotherhood to their troops. There is just as much danger as giving no trust as there is too much. What part of a man's soul allows him to shake hands with another without fear of violence? What part allows him to sacrifice himself, his life for another man? When sacrifices are made, will we revere or ridicule them? The day will come, many times, when a line is drawn, and people must choose their sides. _

: : :

Flint Gordon  
Pinhearst Company  
Fort Lee, New Jersey  
2011

Standing at the entrance, Flint sent a blue-hot stream of flames at Matt Parkman. A guard situated at the front door, unseen by Flint, fell to the ground, his clothes on fire.

Flint watched Matt somersault out of the way with agility usual for a man of his size. He sprinted past Flint, who continued his fiery barrage. He remained incapable of actually burning the intruder, instead striking down guards that he missed seeing moments earlier.

Matt, now in the elevator, not burned in the slightest, traveled to the fifth floor while, downstairs, Flint continued to attack Pinehearst employees that Matt made him think were him. Once the sprinklers came on in the lobby, Flint's attacks came to an end.

Her room was empty. The bed was empty. All the medical devices: her heart monitor, her brain wave monitor, her blood IV were all remaining, but no Daphne.

He heard the two pairs of footsteps behind him: a woman's boots and a man's loafers. He felt the tingling in his brain that prevented him from using his ability. He turned his head, screaming, "What have you done with her?!"

Even though he couldn't search her brain, he felt the sincere confusion in Claire's voice, "We didn't do anything with her. Unlike you, she was a loyal agent of this organization who has paid her dues. We've been trying to save her."

Matt turned around fully to face Claire and the Haitian. "Then where is she?!"

"I don't know," Claire insisted, "We've had her here ever since you brought her in, pumping her full of _my_ blood, hoping we could revive her from the coma. We're having trouble recruiting quality talent," she snipped.

Matt held the half-full packet of blood in his hand. "Fine, let's say I believe you. Then who checked out Daniella?"

"She went missing from the nursery. We assumed you'd taken her along with Molly."

"Molly escaped by herself…" Matt replied distantly, but freezing mid-sentence. With awareness, he added, "…and I haven't been able to find her yet." He turned around and approached Claire, standing too close to emphasize his height. "Look, we're in a zero-sum game here. I'll make you a deal. Go ask Grandpa what he did with my wife and daughter and I'll let you know where I hid Peter Petrelli's body."

Claire considered the proposal.

: : :

Hiro and Ando  
Cádiz, Spain  
2008

Hiro fell backwards after one punch from the burly man, leaving Ando standing alone with six men much taller than him.

"I would like to apologize on behalf of my friend. He is just trying to save the world."

One of the men, the alpha male, replied, "Listen, we don't like Chinese folk breaking into our warehouse demanding we cease our perfectly legitimate business activities." He gestured to the large box with the Pinehearst logo on it. "And we don't like tattle-telling witnesses, either."

Then, the goon fell over. The two men beside him were thrown across the room. Another tried to take a step forward, falling flat on his face, and breaking his nose on the unforgiving concrete. The man on the far left suddenly tumbled to the ground, groaning and holding his groin. Suddenly, a tiny blonde woman appeared before the last man standing and said, "Boo."

He raced out.

Ando put on his best sneer face. "Daphne."

"What up, Sidekick? Thanks for protecting the merchandise." She surveyed the boxes, happily finding them intact.

"We are not here to protect them. We are here to destroy them."

"In that case," Daphne noted, pulling out a bully club, and waving her hips threateningly.

Ando took a casual step forward and plucked the club out of her hand.

Daphne looked dumbfounded, "Clearly, I underestimated you." She had the club in her hand again a microsecond later. She reached into her back pocket and handed him a business card. "We're always looking for a few good men. And women." She grinned sheepishly.

Ando scowled again, and took the card, noting the engagement ring on Daphne's hand. "Congratulations," he commented politely.

Daphne looked down at her hand and smiled despite herself, and replied awkwardly, "Thanks. Your invitation probably got lost in the mail," she finished insincerely.

"Pinehearst only employs Specials. I am ordinary."

Daphne zipped away again, smashing a box in super-speed. She reached into the broken box and pulled out a syringe filled with a clear liquid. "Luckily, they have a shot for curing ordinary."

"We are trying to fight this," Ando replied defiantly, throwing the shot on the ground. As it was made of plastic, it didn't break. "We are fighting the future. Stopping the world from cracking in half."

Daphne responded immediately, "Then join us. We're trying to stop the very same thing. Why else recruit so many Specials?"

"I will never betray Hiro. He will save the world."

Daphne lowered her head to look at the unconscious Hiro. "Will he?" she asked gravely.

Ando didn't answer the question. "And if I take the shot?"

"You take the shot; you work for us."

Still defiant, Ando noted, "You are villains."

"Really? What's the last villainous thing you remember us doing?"

Ando is struck silent.

Daphne circled Ando. "Hiro may pride himself as some sort of world savior, but just because his idealistic Superman fantasies of intangible 'justice' put him at odds with our objectives doesn't make us the bad guys. Perhaps when you're done playing Robin Boy Wonder, you can join us in making a real difference."

"What has Pinehearst done lately?"

Daphne disappeared and reappeared in a eyeblink, holding a recent copy of the _New York Times_. "Read the news. 'Synthetic' Specials with terrakinesis and hydrokinesis have irrigated Northern Africa. Within five years, it will be a major source of food for the Eastern Hemisphere. We gave one Swiss banker technopathy and now the World Bank is completely unhackable, making the world economy more stable. In the past month, we've overthrown _two_ genocidal dictators in Paraguay and Nicaragua. What's Pikachu done lately? Blow up a few buildings? Raid a couple of ships? Save some kitties stuck in trees? Think about it." And then she was gone.

Ando knelt down and smacked Hiro across the face. His eyes popped open and surveyed the area. He looked to Ando, "You go Chuck Norlis on them?"

"Something like that, Hiro. We need to talk."

"Of course. Heroes must come together and make plans on how to maintain the balance of the world. We fight for justice and equality and happiness!" He thrust his fist out triumphantly.

Ando remained unmoved, "Hiro, you know when Robin became Nightwing?"

"Of course! He had to move out of Batman's shadow. Become his own hero."

"Hiro, I think someday soon I will have to become Nightwing."

"But… you mean…" Hiro didn't know what else to say. When his head was turned, Ando picked up his discarded shot and slipped it into his pocket.

Hiro noted the broken box and pulled out an Evolution shot. "You know, I'm disappointed. I expected it to be green or purple or something."

: : :

Audrey Hanson and Meredith Gordon  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California  
2011

"Audrey Hanson," the woman introduced herself to Meredith, extending her hand. Meredith checked her hands for flames before shaking it.

"So, you're replacing Vic while he's on vacation?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Heard you maimed the last one."

Audrey sighed. "Rookie mistake. I get a veteran then?"

"Stop making me feel old. I've worked her for four years." She grinned, "Though I must admit, I am lucky to have stayed alive. We don't have what you would call a competitive turnover rate."

"So…" Audrey baited, "we work with a serial killer. Kind of second-guessing my job hunting skills now."

"A _reformed_ serial killer," Meredith corrected, her tone as flimsy as the excuse.

"You're okay with that?"

"What he did as Sylar in inexcusable, and believe me, he did it to someone very close to me. But I've seen him with his wife and kid, and it's almost sweet. Part of Gabriel is still a good man. And he's a good agent, too: smart; and we need that. Plus, I'm kind of friends with his wife."

Surprised, Audrey prompted, "Really?"

"As much as one can be with friends with her. We bonded over popping out Petrelli kids."

"Who'd you have a kid with?"

Meredith inhaled deeply. "The story starts with a naïve 18-year-old swept off her feet by this handsome Navy man…"

"Nathan Petrelli? You have a child with the President of the United States?"

"It's not a state secret, but try to keep that on the down-low. Scandal might get him kicked out of office."

"And that'd be so terrible? I have nothing against the man in particular, but it's no secret that the Presidency's in bed with Pinehearst, the guys who are putting those shots on the street."

"The Nathan I know only wants the best for this country."

"You still have feelings for him."

"I will always have a soft spot for Nathan. But I've moved on. I got married. It's still awkward with the First Lady, but life goes on."

: : :

Gabriel and Elle Gray  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California

Elle began to button up a sky blue cardigan as she walked down the halls of Level 1. Gabriel handed her a pair of leather gloves, which she slid on over the cuffs of her sleeves. In his other hand, he held a box filled with drinking glasses.

A calm-looking woman in her twenties sat in front of the window of one of the cells.

"Hey, Trisha," Elle called.

"Mrs. Gray. The kid's fine," she noted upbeat. "Had peanut butter and jelly, carrot sticks, and milk for lunch. He watched the same episode of _VeggieTales_ five times and then _The Land Before Time_. One of them, at least. He threw a ball at the wall a lot."

Gabriel and Elle opened the door to greet their son. Noah raced through the room, littered with metal blocks and balls toward his parents. He began to head toward his mother, but his father grabbed him first. "You know the rules, champ, you hug me, and Mommy hugs you. Softly." With extra care, Noah hugged his father around the neck, thankfully not snapping it like he'd done earlier in the week. Elle hugged him from behind, careful to let her cheek only rest against his soft hair and not his sandpaper-rough skin.

Gabriel let his squirming son down, the abrasions of his neck healing. He surveyed the walls of his son's "room." The metal-coated walls were covered in dents and dings, matching the majority of Noah's toys, which were similarly deformed.

He looked over and watched his wife sending small electrical bursts at the back of their son's head.

"Elle," he chastised.

"What?" she defended, "I spend four _years_ being extra careful not to electrocute my baby and I find out and it turns out he was immune the whole time?"

Noah looked over curiously and Gabriel announced, "Mommy's making lightning on your head."

Noah looked as if he couldn't have been any more excited, pleading with his mother to show him. With a superior grin, Elle send sparks, arcs, and balls of lightning toward her son, who reacted as if he were being tickled.

His attention span was not super-human, however, and he soon became absorbed with building a castle out of his blocks.

Still seeing her husband looking at her with criticism, she pointed her eyes toward the toddler-sized indention in the ceiling and the matching one in the floor directly below it.

"What Dad doesn't throw his boy into the air?"

"What Dad doesn't catch him?"

The conversation was dropped as Noah was eager to show off his new trick. He raced into the wall, face first, and fell backwards. His parents didn't even flinch. Gabriel pointed this out, "Normal parents get scared about these things."

"We're not normal parents and he's not a normal kid."

Next on the agenda for the Grays was letting Noah practice controlling his superstrength. He was handed a series of dinner glasses, which he was instructed to pick up. Sixteen glasses in a row shattered to Noah's tight grip.

"Makes you wonder if the kid's real dad was Trevor Zeitland."

Scowling, Gabriel answered, "Elle, Sweetie, I don't think you understand the levels of morbidity in that joke."

Elle took a moment to pause and consider her joke. Her lips curled. "I totally did not. It's so much more hilarious now."

Unable to keep a scowl in the presence of his wife's most sadistic grin, he smiles, too. "Okay, I'll admit, it's a little funny. Though, I like to think I'm one of the few men _virile_ enough to actually impregnate a thunderstorm like you."

Elle twitched her eyebrows enticingly, "Is that so? I think you might be right, Mr. Gray." Slipping the gloves into her back pocket, she took his hands in his, lightly sparking against his knuckles.

Their faces only inches apart, Gabriel noted breathily, "This is probably not the most appropriate time or place to be having this conversation." In unison, they turned their heads toward the back of the room and caught a glimpse of their son picking up the broken shards of glass and sticking them in his mouth.

Sighing disappointedly, Elle noted, "Our child is eating glass. Where did our parenting skills go?"

"Don't worry, Babe. He's gone indestructible organs."

After a pause, she asked, "Does he?"

In a half-panic, the pair scrambled to Noah's side. He was fine.

: : :

Peter Petrelli  
Suresh's Lab  
Lower Manhattan, New York

Peter heard a familiar voice call his name from the door.

"Tracy?" he replied to his sister-in-law.

She walked down the stairs and hugged him. Peter remained suspicious.

"Tracy, what's going on?"

"Your brother is worried about you. You were kidnapped from Pinehearst."

"I was rescued. Pinehearst had me killed." His voice a whisper, he added, "by _Claire_."

"Well, if that's true, then Pinehearst has been adding more spin to their reports than I have." She chuckled at her own joke. Peter didn't.

Mohinder interrupted, "This sounds like a private conversation. Molly and I will be in the next room." He took her hand, which she gingerly held back on account of the strange scales on the back of his hand.

"Was that Suresh?" Barbara asked.

"Yeah," Peter replied, "moonshine Evolution shot. Bad idea."

Once in the next room, Mohinder immediately prompted, "Where's Tracy Petrelli?"

"In the next room," Molly noted absently.

"No, _where_ is she?"

Molly thought for a moment, "Annapolis, Maryland. Then who's…?!"

Mohinder shushed her. "Tracy and Niki Sanders are triplets. That's the third."

"How did you…?"

"Her heartbeat was too fast. She was sweating. I could smell the deception chemicals."

"Whoa. Have you been around any crickets?" Molly stared at the ceilings.

"Crickets?"

"Super-hearing. And don't ants have a good sense of smell?"

"We can discuss it after we save Peter," Mohinder suggested pointedly. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Molly replied plainly.

"Then you'll forgive me for this." He grabbed her around the shoulders and leapt to the ceiling. Covering her mouth, he began to cover her in webbing. "I'm so sorry, Molly, I'll get you down soon."

Once a suitable hammock-like web was created, Molly replied, "This is absolutely disgusting. I'll only forgive you if you promise not to do it again. And buy me a new jacket."

Mohinder leapt back down silently and reentered the room, covering his ears. "Does anyone else hear that?" Peter and Barbara look at him strangely. "Must be my super-hearing," Mohinder explained. He noticed Barbara covertly scanning the room. "If only Sylar were here. He stole that ability from a Special." He made eye contact with Peter, adding inconspicuously, "He just listened and could hear _everything_."

Peter concentrated. Over the ruckus of every amplified sound within five blocks, Peter made out Mohinder's voice: "Peter, if you can hear me. That's Barbara. She's after something."

Peter made eye contact with Barbara, who immediately realized she'd been revealed. She made a sprint for the formula sitting on the table, but Mohinder leapt with grasshopper-like agility and kicked her into the wall. Peter grabbed the formula and immediately faded to invisibility.

Mohinder felt the ground fall beneath him as a powerful sense of vertigo warped his senses. He made a commanding leap and dug his fingers and feet into the first wall he connected with, holding on as if his life depended on it.

"Peter," Barbara called menacingly from the floor, "come out, come out from wherever you are." She began to wander the room. "You may be able to stay invisible, but I doubt you can move, even concentrate enough to use another ability. Try to take one step and you'll stumble over." She continued around the table, probing the air with her foot. "You know, I can make it a lot worse. I can make it so that you don't even trust gravity. That you're so nauseated that you pass out from the confusion. I can induce a migraine. Ever little sound…" she started to stomp her high-heels into the ground as she walked, "is like a drum beat in your ear. Light," she said, pulling the tin foil off the windows, "is like looking directly into a flood light. Your vision blurs."

On the wall, blood began to flow from Mohinder's clenched fingers.

"I've got all day," announced Barbara.

: : :

A/N: Matt just can't catch a break, can he? I'm curious to see where this Audrey/Meredith pairing goes.

Thanks to whoever told me they wanted some more Noah. I hang out on the TWoP boards, and posters are always lamenting that Sylar is either (1) an evil, psychotic, blood-thirty monster and that's boring now, and (2) not an evil, psychotic, blood-thirty monster anymore and that's boring and it's Elle's fault. This just goes to show that you can have crazy Gabriel and Elle without them being malicious demons. The happy Gray family works pretty darn well.

I think I love Barbara. I mean, I hate her, but, oh, is she a deliciously nasty bitch.

I'm beginning to feel the fatigue of doing an extended series. Now, luckily, I've got one story line that will last until Chapter 18, which bounces among the three locales (Pinehearst, Primatch, and the lab), meaning that accompanying subplots have a place to grow out of. In addition to your praises and criticisms (which I adore, by the way), let me know what characters or plots you'd like to see more of. Who haven't I flashed back to? What characters am I underutilizing?

Started 11/24/2008. Finished 11/29/2008.


	15. The Tongue of Deceit

The World Entire, Chapter 15  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Matt tries to escape Pinehearst. Micah meets his other aunt. Nathan visits his father.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." Just to be safe, make sure you're caught up with the show. I'm not going to add content from future episodes.

A/N: At first, I was wary of straying from the show's canon, but now I'm kind of glad I have.

: : :

Chapter 15: The Tongue of Deceit

_Glossolalia, better known as "speaking in tongues," is the phenomenon where the religiously fervent, so filled with ecstasy, began to speak nonsensically. It is theorized that the zealous are speaking some sort of celestial language. In the Bible, followers of Jesus Christ, overcome with the Holy Spirit, began speaking in tongues, and found themselves able to understand one another. Human are hardly unique in the ability to make vocal sounds. True we have one of the most complex speech organ systems. But it is our brains that make us truly unique. Not only have we developed thousands of languages and hundreds of thousands of dialects, which constantly evolve, but our words have more potential than we give them credit for. Our words exchange information, recount stories both true and fictional, and even elicit emotion. But perhaps most intriguing is our ability of deception. Nothing binds truth to our words but our own moral compass. What else give us so much power? _

: : :

Claire and Arthur  
Pinehearst Company  
Fort Lee, New Jersey  
2011

"Give Mr. Parkman my apologies," Arthur said, "I do not know what happened to his wife or daughter. But we still need to know where Peter is."

Claire apathetically noted, "He only required that I _ask_ you if you'd done anything with Daphne and the baby. I'll see if he keeps up his end of the deal."

"If not, I have his father's ability. Sedate him and bring him to me if he's uncooperative. If Miss Zimmerman had any leads on Peter's whereabouts she would have checked in. At least she should have."

"Arthur," Claire asked, "if no one at Pinehearst did anything with Daphne, why would Matt risk his life coming back here if he really had her? Do you suppose it's some sort of ruse?"

"Matt is clever, but he doesn't strike me as _that_ shrewd."

The Haitian burst into the room and ran straight to the computer on Arthur's desk. Knowing that verbal questions would be in vain, Claire and Arthur followed him to the desk. On screen, a surveillance video showed Matt throwing a chair through the window and leaping out behind it, the timestamp noting that the event occurred only a few minutes earlier.

Claire was dumbfounded. "Is he crazy? That's a fifth story window!"

The Haitian rewound and showed the scene again. Matt grabbed the sack of blood from the IV stand before leaping out.

Claire sighed. "Slippery little telepaths. Did you ever have this problem, Arthur?"

"Yes," Arthur replied honestly.

The Haitian looked to Claire, who nodded. "Arthur, we're quickly losing our hold on this situation. Matt may have teamed up with Angela. Or he could be—"

Arthur cut his granddaughter off, "I gave orders to a medical team to move Daphne and her daughter to a secure facility if Matt was spotted returning to the building. I was _supposed_ to have been informed." He surveyed Claire. "Can you handle this?"

"Don't I always?"

"I don't want another Costa Verde."

Claire didn't respond. She walked out the door with the Haitian. The normally tacit man looked around and spoke, "He's lying."

"I know. If they moved Daphne, they would have taken her medical equipment and certainly the blood."

"If you know he's so corrupt, why do you continue to work for him?"

"What about you? You swore that you were loyal until death to Angela and now you're working with _us_?"

The Haitian remained characteristically silent.

Claire added, "Look, if working for the Devil is going to save the world, I'll do it. I save lives. If I go to Hell for it, I'm not worried about pain. In fact, I'd welcome it."

The Haitian studied the small woman and pondered her revealing words.

: : :

Micah Sanders  
Suresh's Lab  
Lower Manhattan, New York

Micah walked into the dirty lab and immediately grabbed onto the railing as disorienting nausea overtook him. He looked forward and saw a familiar woman. "Aunt Tracy?"

Barbara's face turned to panic. "Micah! Sweetie, how are you?"

Across the room, Peter Petrelli suddenly appeared into sight with a look of concentration on his face. Barbara tried to stare him down, but found her power useless. Behind her, a scarred Mohinder fell from the wall. Micah's eyes widened at the professor's appearance.

"Sorry about that," Peter noted to Mohinder. He approached Barbara. "Did I ever tell you about the time I got in a scuffle with the Haitian and knocked him out briefly? For once, he wasn't suppressing my ability to absorb his. In fact, I can even turn it off."

Peter was instantaneously in front of her, shoving her into the cement wall with superhuman strength. She fell to the ground, unconscious.

The teenage boy at the top of the stairs screamed angrily at Peter, kicking him through the railing. Peter held him still with telekinesis. Micah retaliated by causing the light fixture above Peter to burst, allowing him to escape into the next room.

Mohinder ran in after him, his eyes turned upward, calling out to Molly. Micah followed the professor's eyes and saw the encapsulated girl on the ceiling. He pulled the dragonfly robot out of his pocket and set it into motion; it first attacked Mohinder's face and then flew to the ceiling, where the cocooned girl was bound. The dragonfly quickly tore through the webbing, fouling up its internal workings. Both Molly and the irreparable dragonfly fell to the ground, Micah breaking Molly's fall. Thinking himself a hero, he was surprised when she slapped him and raced to the disfigured Mohinder.

The bloody gash on his face healed quickly.

Micah again found himself telekinetically grabbed. He was held against the wall.

"Micah?" Peter asked.

: : :

Noah Bennet and Victoria Pratt  
Odessa, Texas  
1996

Noah's eyes swept the room one last time through the infrared goggles and turned to Victoria Pratt, who was standing nearby. "He's not here," he noted. "Now, what can I do for you, Miss Pratt?"

"How is Claire doing?"

Suspicious of the apparent small talk, Noah replied mechanically, "She started kindergarten this year. She likes spelling and coloring but hates math."

"Excellent."

"Excuse me for asking, ma'am, but why the sudden interest in my daughter?" His hands fisted tensely.

"Claire is very important. The daughter of a Special, you know."

"A pryokinetic. I was _there_."

"We left her with you for a reason."

"And that is…?"

"Because you're a Company man through and through. When we need something done, you're the man for the job. And we need her protected."

"I assure you Claire is very well protected. Sandra was desperate for a child. Nothing bad will happen to Claire."

"Frankly, there are things that Sandra isn't prepared for."

"I thought that's why I was for."

"There're things you're not prepared for."

"I will keep my daughter safe to the best of my ability. It's my job."

"'Your daughter'" Victoria noted, using his words, "is destined for great things. I'm certain we chose the right man to take her there."

"Speaking of jobs, how'd you get here?"

"Summa cum laude from Dartmouth. Ph.D. in microbiology."

"You had a leg up, shall we say?"

"Which brought me here. A coincidental meeting with a certain Robert Bishop at a biomedical conference that wasn't coincidental at all. They say one's calling is where your greatest talent meets the world's greatest need."

"I believe it's where your greatest _desire_ meets the world's greatest need. Your greatest desire was to be a microbiologist and founder of a covert organization?"

"Your greatest desire was to be a hired gun in a covert organization?" she challenged.

"What do you want me to say? A childhood of reading _Ellery Queen_ and watching _The Rockford Files _led me to seek a career as the closest thing to a spy I could get?"

"If it's true, yes. You know what I wanted to be?"

"Wonder Woman?"

"When I was eight, yeah. I wanted to be in TV. Morning news. The next Barbara Walters or Jane Pauley."

"I would have watched."

Victoria nodded to the compliment and headed toward the door, stopping to admire a fern sitting in a flower pot near the door. "Nice _Pellaea ovata_."

"It was there when I got here."

"You should take it home to your girls. It's going to sprout the most beautiful multicolored flowers."

Noah's phone rang. He answered. "Sandra… oh, she does, does she? Well, then, put her on… Hi, Sweetie, how was school? Oh, he did? Uh-huh. That's great." He continued to listen to his little girl, opening a drawer. He pulled out a crayon drawing of three stick figures with yellow hair: a mommy, a daddy, and a little girl going to the "Baby Store."

: : :

Nathan and Arthur Petrelli  
Pinehearst Company  
Fort Lee, New Jersey  
2011

Arthur welcomed his eldest son into his office. "So, word on the street is that you met the Dream Team yesterday."

"'Word on the street', Dad? That's top secret information. How did you hear about that?"

"I have many talented people working for me. You hear things."

"Fine, I met the first squadron of Special soldiers. All thanks to the Evolution shots provided by the Pinehearst Company. They're getting expensive, by the way."

"It's supply and demand." After a lengthy pause, Arthur admitted, "We lost the Formula."

Surprised, Nathan asked, "How?"

"Nakamura."

Nathan failed to look as angry as Arthur thought he ought to. "Dad, I'm worried about how easily those shots were getting out to the public. You claimed to have had the tightest security on them, but my intelligence agencies are telling me that there isn't a corner of the Earth where Synthetics are popping up. Every dictator has an ability, making them all the more difficult to depose. All the crime syndicates seem to have Special assassins. Street gangs whose worst crimes were graffiti can now knock down buildings. I'm not going to tell you what I had to do to suppress an Israel-Pakistan ability-enhanced conflict last month. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you _wanted_ this stuff available."

"Now, why would I want that? Can you imagine a world where everyone has abilities? Politicians, police, gangsters, the poor, the rich, every race, every creed?"

"Is that supposed to terrify me or inspire me?"

"Evolution. It's a biological imperative."

"You sound like Sylar."

"He goes by Gabriel."

"I know what my brother prefers to be called. And I wasn't taking about him as he is now."

"_Now_, he's a puppet of his mother."

Nathan began to taunt his father. "You must be so jealous. You can't have him. You can't have Peter. And, well, I'm just not as easy to control as you thought."

"I thought you were with me."

"I am. I believe that there are people in this world that deserve abilities. Medicine had made colossal leaps now with regenerator blood. Technology is limited only by the imagination of our byte-talkers. We're regrowing forests and cutting down on pollution."

"We've got nigh-invincible warriors," Arthur added.

"Is that what this is about? World domination?"

"Nathan, you are the President of the most powerful country in the world."

"Because you couldn't be. This Legion that I created, I didn't create for your purposes to amass so much power that you wouldn't even _need_ to use it. I am doing exactly for the very reasons I told the American public." Standing tall, he added, "I'm going to save this country and this world, either with you… or from you."

"You always did have a Messiah Complex."

"No, Dad, I didn't. I learned it from Peter. He may have been disillusioned but at least he was fighting for a noble purpose."

"Son…"

"Don't even…"

"Son, we are the next step in evolution…"

"Dad, don't. It's obvious you don't even understand evolution. Evolution is not about reaching the next 'stage' or being 'the pinnacle.' Evolution is about adapting to the environment one lives in. Once upon a time, the Tyrannosaurus Rex was king. It was strong and it ate whatever it wanted. And when the world turned cold, T. Rex slumped over and died, and it was the rodents who would survive. Dad, a day will come when the world turns cold and it doesn't matter how many abilities you've stolen, you will fall and cockroaches will trample your body."

: : :

Port Reyes Correctional Facility  
San Diego, California  
2011

"Oh, dear Lord," Audrey prayed as they neared the prison. "How many Specials are we talking about?"

Meredith Gordon replied, "Doctor Desmond stole fifty-three shots. Subtract those who've already escaped." Audrey stared out the window at the orange blurs streaking across the sky. "We know at least one was killed before a guard. And no doubt a few have killed each other."

"We're still outnumbered. And outgunned."

Meredith just grinned. "I've spent my fair share of time with convicts. They're a notoriously unorganized group. Plus, these guys will not be practiced with their powers."

Audrey looked in the rear view mirror. "I'm ex-FBI; I'm not used to playing fair. We've got two cars behind us."

"That would be Bess and Elle, then Gabriel and Ryan. And Angela will send more. I hope."

Port Reyes was small, holding perhaps a hundred convicts, made up of thieves, arsonists, assaulters, and a few second-degree murderers. In the late afternoon, the smoke coming from inside the prison yard was visible against the sky. One outside wall began to crack and finally a sliver crumbled, allowing a handful of speedsters to escape. Inside, the superpowered criminals brawled with their newly-discovered abilities.

: : :

A/N: So, sorry for the ridiculously long hiatus. I had a dry spell. Which isn't an excuse because this chapter was already written, sans a few details I wanted to look up (I typically leave out people and place names so that I can make up something significant).

Started 11/24/2008. Finished 1/5/2009.


	16. Falling Angels

The World Entire, Chapter 16  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: The Company gets some help at a prison yard full of Enhanced inmates. Peter tries to find Hiro. Matt takes his revenge.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." Just to be safe, make sure you're caught up with the show. I'm not going to add content from future episodes.

A/N: I was reading over some past chapters and I noted that Elle popped Gabriel's shoulder back in. I am seriously psychic. Granted, it didn't _immediately_ lead to nookie, but it should be pointed out that they do have an active sex life, so… yeah.

Also, I gave Janice's son lie detection. Granted, I intended for him just to have some form of telepathy, but still, it quite interesting that we find Sue Landers had that ability.

Oh, and I had Sparrow say we've never had a black president, when it's obviously that we have, in-HeroesVerse: President Worfbama; which until I'm told otherwise will be his fanonical name.

: : :

Chapter 16: Falling Angels

_While popular culture and mythology depicts demons as malevolent spirits or corporeal hell-creatures, the original Greco-Roman _daemon_ was a disembodied spiritual force with no evil—or necessarily good—intent. Freud theorized that demons represented the grief experienced by loved ones who had recently died. In fact, even Aleister Crowley stated that demons were a useful metaphor for certain inner psychological processes. Superstition or not, demons represent the dark urges inside of us: to take, to hurt, to kill. For some, the resistance to sin is a great stone wall, for others a meager thread. Some can be saved. Some cannot. _

: : :

Port Reyes Prison  
San Diego, California  
2011

Audrey ducked behind the car, avoiding the burst of flame that struck the vehicle's windshield. It was a small flame, much less potent than Meredith's. In fact, Meredith struck back with a much stronger, yellow flame that caused the prisoner to retreat backwards. Audrey quickly put herself in his path and tasered him to the ground.

Telekinetically-suspended sections of the destroyed wall struck prisoners right and left. Gabriel had trouble with a group of them: one with durable skin, who was immune to the blunt attacks; another with super strength, who could punch them away with equal force; and one with cryokinesis, who extreme cold shattered the concrete on contact. Ryan was able to wing the cryo with his pistol and Elle took out the strongman with a well-placed lightning bolt, but the durable was still a problem. Gabriel tried a concussive scream, but the convict slammed into the outside wall and kept approaching him. Halfway there, Bess head-locked him and stabbed him in the ear with a fountain pen. He fell to the ground screaming. Bess grimaced indifferently, pointing to her ear. "Soft spot," she regarded plainly.

A prisoner leapt with superhuman ability on top of her. "Hey, pretty lady," he flirted, his arms around her.

Ryan shot him in the foot and Elle electrocuted him with a precise spark between his eyes.

"Men, bábnik," she groaned. Ryan frowned; Elle and Gabriel grinned. Bess reloaded her gun. "Are we just going to stand here?"

The foursome peered into the open prison yard through the portion of wall that was allowing the prisoners to escape. Several bodies littered the ground and the fighting had begun to die down as the convicts deserted their grudges against one another and began to look at the outside world with malice.

The quartet backed away from the wall. Bess called Audrey on her cell phone for backup, only to find out that she and Meredith were preoccupied with their own group of inmates.

Ryan extended his hand. "One for all, all for one?"

"Yeah," Gabriel replied, "except with the clichés." He raced through the hole in the wall, and was quickly followed by the team.

Once inside, the quartet discovered that five more agents were battling the inmates, each of them wearing a Pinehearst pin. Claire Bennet tackled a pyrokinetic to the ground, who was quite unnerved at the unrelentless blonde who continued to wrestle him even as he charred her flesh away. Nearby, a lean blonde girl, made leaner by her elasticity abilities, strangle-held an inmate, allowing Echo DeMille to hum in his face, rendering him unconscious. The elastic girl's body rippled, absorbing the sound.

"Thanks for the assist, Johanssen," Echo noted to his teammate.

One of the agents raced around with superspeed, each time using the wall to launch him into the next victim. He made the mistake of trying to take down one inmate with inertial amplification, causing him to stop short, collapsing with his nose and ears bleeding. Not wanting to be useless, Gabriel moved his body away.

Claire scowled at Gabriel, with a degree of uncertainty as she looked between him and the prisoners. Gabriel finally asked, "Enemy of my enemy is my friend?"

Claire nodded. "Let's do it." At this, the Company agents began to fight along with the Pinehearst team.

Elle zapped the prisoner who had injured the Pinehearst speedster. "This is our mess to clean up, you know," Claire noted.

Elle, electrocuting the inmate into unconsciousness, replied, "Well, Pom-Pom, it's obvious you needed our help. Family first, right?"

"Don't remind me," Claire noted dryly. Claire kicked the unconscious inmate in the ribs. "That's for Pall." She requested, "Cover me. Got to save my man." She raced over to Agent Pall and used a knife to slice open an artery in his arm, mixing it with her own blood, which was enough to take away the purple stain on his torso. He awoke coughing up blood. "You stay here. I'll finish the job later," Claire instructed.

Flint Gordon was thrown through the hole in the wall into a car. Winded and bruised, but not seriously injured, he rolled off the car, hiding behind it. "Knox punched harder in his sleep. God rest his soul." After a moment, he made the sign of the cross.

A familiar voice chastised him. "Flint, we ain't Catholic."

He turned his head to find his sister sheltered behind the car with him. "Mere?"

She put on a fake smile. "So, how's business?"

"Good. Yours?"

"Slow," Meredith replied honestly, "We're in a bit of a hiring crisis."

Flint scoffed. "It's firin' that's our problem. Lotta traitors and corpses."

"You know, when this whole… everything… blows over, we should really get together for dinner or something. Nothing fried, though."

"Usually, I'd disagree, but lately I've been makin' myself sick with too much fried chicken."

Meredith tilts her head and maternally notes, "Flint, you _know_ better."

"How's the hubby?"

"He's good…" Meredith began, but was cut off by a flame emerges over their head.

"You see how red that was? Guy's an amateur. Let's show 'im what a couple of experts can do." She grinned and they leapt out together, yellow and blue flames ready.

Inside the prison yard, the agents were having a difficult time. The inmate with super-strength had piled enough rocks on Claire to immobilize her. Echo had been rendered unconscious. Bess and Ryan had themselves cornered with guns raised, able to hold off the inmates, but not to escape when their guns became useless. In addition, two dozen more inmates had set their sights on the agents. The two companies badly needed reinforcements.

: : :

Mohinder, Peter, Molly, and Micah  
Suresh's Lab  
Lower Manhattan, New York  
2011

Molly's eyes were closed in concentration, a large world map before her. She held a pushpin in her hand. Without pushing it down, she awoke. "I can't find him. He's gone."

"Gone?" Mohinder prompted.

"Usually that means someone's dead."

"Or time traveling," Peter noted.

Molly nodded hopefully.

Peter continued, holding up the formula, "Hiro went after the other half of the formula in Tokyo. Maybe I should check Japan again."

"Tokyo?" Micah asked.

Peter answered the new recruit. "Yes. Yamagato Industries."

Micah's skin paled. "Don't you guy read the news? There was a huge earthquake in Tokyo yesterday at Yamagato Square. It was caused by a Synthetic. He died but they suspect he may have had some sort of major emotional breakdown."

"Then it's already begun," Peter noted cryptically.

"Don't you have radio or TV or Internet? This was big news," Micah chided.

"No electricity," Mohinder commented, "I stopped paying the bills. I like it better in the dark."

Micah rolled his eyes and pulled out his cell phone. He held it and, after being lost in thought for nearly a minute, the lights came on. Mohinder blanched and raced to the wall to shut them off.

"He's spent too much time around cockroaches," Molly explained.

Micah laughed appreciatively. He smiled warmly at Molly, who scowled in response and went to stand on the other side of Peter, who was now scribbling in a notebook.

"Anyway," Micah commented, "you've got free electricity for the rest of your life."

Peter teleported out of the room, leaving the notepad to fall to the floor with his pencil. On the pad was Hiro's body lying on a pile of rocks. Peter teleported back in, this time with Hiro's body.

"Mohinder!" Peter exclaimed, "Are you aware of any Specials with healing abilities?"

"Besides Claire?"

"No, like, they can heal others. Fix wounds. Something."

"Uh, Daniel Linderman. According to the Company's files. Have you met him?"

"A thousand times. He was my dad's best friend." Peter calmed himself, put on a haughty expression, and with a slight British accent, demanded "Heal" as he laid his hands on Hiro's body. Grimacing, he pressed his hands into Hiro. The Japanese man's wounds did not heal; he did not take breath; his heart didn't restart. With a sadistic smile, Peter sent a quick jolt of electricity into Hiro's chest, and again, and again. He stopped channeling Elle and asked ominously, "Micah, how long ago was the earthquake? More than six hours?"

"At least twelve."

"Then there's nothing I can do."

"You can time travel!" Molly noted.

Peter shook his head. "I've tried it. I've lost count of how many times. It's a direct causation paradox. If I go back, then I return to a timeline where he didn't die and you'll be stranded in this timeline, and eventually something else with slingshot back in my face. The more you do this, the less effect you see. The only way to get back here is to undo what I did. To save the world, you gotta save it in the present. I'm sorry." He took one last glance at the fallen hero.

: : :

Port Reyes Prison  
San Diego, California  
2011

Elle was exhausted, throwing balls of lightning left and right, if only to keep the prisoners at bay. She was able to clear a path to her comrades, but found getting back out with them difficult. She noted Piper, Claire's elastic teammate trying in vain to clear enough rubble to rescue the regenerator. She called out to Gabriel, but couldn't find him in the chaos. She sent a blast of electricity, but the rebar in the cement directed the current and the block didn't explode. One of the inmates, wearing glasses, squinted, and Elle suddenly found her vision fading. Sounds overwhelmed her, including the noisy sound of a helicopter.

A helicopter passed overhead, and six figures leapt from the helicopter, dressed in red-and-khaki fatigues, each with a circular patch on the shoulders emblazoned with "Powered Legion" and an image of the Pinehearst DNA logo. Private George Palladino floated gracefully with Belle Ramos in his grasp. She held out her arms, allowing the other four soldiers to float softly to the ground. The blocks of cement on top of Claire were lifted off her. The tall, redheaded Sergeant Anthony O'Malley called for the Company and Pinehearst agents to retreat. They did so lethargically, clearly worried about the soldiers, but found their fears unfounded. They were an efficient group. They ducked all elemental attacks. Superspeed-endowed Private Henry quickly knocked several inmates unconscious. Private Johnson used his pryokinesis to carrel the inmates into a tight group. Those that tried to escape found themselves flown or thrown into the pile. The entire procedure took only a few minutes.

It was only then that Elle noticed her husband's complete absence. He had been valiantly fighting only moments earlier. She alerter her partner to the fact, but Bess simply replied that her husband was invincible. "There are a dozen more escapees. Flight, super-speed, and the like. We have our work cut out for us."

"He'll call in," Ryan said comfortingly.

: : :

Matt and Gabriel  
Port Reyes, California  
2011

Gabriel attacked imaginary inmates as he walked away from the prison yard. His hands danced at his launch imaginary projectiles through the air. Unaware of his surroundings, he tended to rustle the grass or strip portions of bark off of a tree. He even smiled occasionally as he watched what he though were his wife's clever attacks. Gabriel was oblivious to the military helicopter flying above him. Matt was not, but he continued to lead the man astray.

Then, in Gabriel's mind, the prison yard disappeared. He saw his childhood apartment in Queens fade into view. The wallpaper, however, was not fading or peeling; the carpet was not stained or frayed; and he could plainly see the entrance to his room, still fully decorated. His mother had sold most of his things when he moved out. But there was a surreal aspect to the vision. There was a strange permanence to everything; nothing outside the window moved: the featureless trees stood still. A cloudless, paper-textured sky featured a setting sun that was not too bright to look at. The lights in the apartment glowed brightly, but lit only a small sphere around them, leaving much of the apartment dim and filled with dramatic shadows.

Gabriel could not activate any of his abilities, but his intuition was still superhuman. He could see the dream-like flaws in the reality. He was being mentally attacked by a telepath. But the assault on his mind was strong. This was not the work of an inmate. This person was experienced, who was not only searching his mind but deceiving his perceptions simultaneously.

He heard his father's voice. Seemingly gliding into the room, Gabriel noted his father towering above him. "Boy, don't you get those stupid dreams in your head. My grandfather fixed watches. My father fixed watches. I fix watches. And you're gonna fix watches, too. You wanna do something else, you wait till I'm dead."

A deep-rooted anger rose up in Gabriel, but he squashed it. "Gabriel," came the soft, creaky voice of his mother, "don't you listen to your father. You can be anything you want. You should be a doctor. Or a lawyer. Or a musician. You did so love that cello player. You could even be President. You're my son and you're special. You're special. Special. Special. Special." The infuriating word echoed through Gabriel's mind.

Gabriel spun away from the voices and he noted another inhabitant in the room: Matt Parkman. He then stood face to face with him. Stuck in a shared mind, Gabriel was able to sense his anger and hatred: the hatred of a man avenging his true love. _Then, it's about the little speedster, isn't it?_ The wall clock began to loudly tick, echoing through the room. Gabriel was finally able to make eye contact with Matt, who acknowledged his presence. "C'mon, Parkman," Gabriel taunted, "I'm a serial killer. You want to mess up me? Go darker."

The apartment grew darker, until it was pitch black. But meager sunlight began to shine around the room as through a dusty skylight. It was not the Grays' apartment anymore, but the back room of the clock workshop. Gabriel and Matt now stood side-by-side, witnessing the scene. A younger Gabriel was standing beside Brian Davis. Gabriel's condition appeared sickly: he seemed withered; his overlarge glasses covered his sunken eyes and pale face. He wore a medium gray sweater vest over a cream-colored shirt and brown pants. Brian Davis stood over a table, his dress shirt snow white and his tie blood red. Behind Brian's back, Gabriel turned monstrous: his eyes yellow and his teeth fanged. He grabbed a crystal from the table; it was dagger-shaped with a snaking curved blade.

Matt was then splattered with blood. He could taste it and no amount of spitting or gagging could get rid of the metallic taste. It covered his face, but his attempts to wipe it off, only spread it to his hands; it was still warm. Even trying to wipe it off on his pants was to no avail. He was drowning it in.

Matt opened his eyes to see that the scene had changed again. He was now in a small apartment. He recognized Elle Bishop holding a clear dish of pasta, covering in canary-yellow cheese. She was wearing a white apron and apparently nothing else. Her glamorously-styled golden blonde hair covered her shoulder. But she too became demonic, her sky-blue eyes turned an unnatural electric blue, her forehead growing horns. In the other room, the demonic Gabriel was there, holding a young man dressed in black against the wall. Matt felt himself pressed against the wall beside him; he couldn't look away as the man's head was torn open and more blood assaulted Matt's senses.

Gabriel was no longer dressed in his sweater vests. He was in black jeans and a black jacket. "Enjoy the show, Parkman," he stated, staring right into Matt's eyes. He donned a baseball cap and walked out the door.

Matt soon found himself in the streets of Chicago, right on the heels of a shadowy man chasing a 15-year-old boy on a bicycle. The boy fell off and released a blood-curdling scream.

Back in the real world, Sylar left a nightmare-ridden Matt on the ground and headed toward the prison yard. Company cars were driving away, but a battle raged on inside the prison walls. Before Sylar entered, he bashed his watch face against the cement wall.

: : :

Monica and Lyle  
New Orleans, Louisiana  
2011

He glowed like a light bulb. Radioactive energy poured from his body, preventing Monica and Lyle from getting closer. From behind a shipping crate fifty yards away, Lyle turned to his partner. "I had an IR nearly burn down my house. I was lucky I didn't develop cancer. Now, I'm just tempting fate."

Monica had to laugh. "Luckily, we came with long range weapons." She pulled out her gun and fired toward the Special. He blanched but didn't fall over. Monica pulled herself back behind the boxes, the left side of her face red and her hair frazzled. "He's like a furnace."

Lyle put on a pair of sunglasses and sidled backwards against the wall of the aluminum building behind them, raised his gun and fired toward the man again. Squinting through the glasses, he watched the bullet hit its intended target. For a brief second, a portion of the man's shoulder darkened. Lyle pulled himself back behind the boxes and replaced the glasses in his pocket. "He's too hot. He's melting the bullets on contact. We got to hit him with something bigger; wear him out."

Monica nodded, "Okay, Bennet, what's the plan?"

"Give me a second to think of one."

It was a second they didn't have as the boxes above them burst into flames.

"He's coming over!" Monica screamed and dragged Lyle up. They raced forward. Lyle tried to open the doors to the building, but burned his hands before he could even touch the metal flame. Wasting no time, he kicked the doors in with a booted foot. The partners raced to the other side of the building but found the back door chained shut.

"What the hell?" Lyle commented.

Monica groaned. "We're in the bad part of town. Owners do this."

"That would have been good information earlier," Lyle remarked sarcastically.

Monica tried to double back, but suddenly the air in the room got a lot hotter. The glowing target lumbered in, activating the sprinklers. Steam billowed off of the Special. Lyle and Monica smiled in unison. "Here's the plan," Lyle noted.

_Le Parkour_ was second nature to Monica, even more so than when she first learned it. She efficiently scaled the large cargo boxes and swung across the pipes snaking across the ceiling, kicking the main pipe hard enough to cause a torrent of water on top of the Special. Thick steam quickly filled the room.

Darnell James finally felt the heat around him dissipate as the cool water relaxed him. He was blinded, though by the impenetrable wall of water vapor surrounding him. He slowly walked his way through the room, blind, holding up his hands trying to find the way out now that his abilities were under control. Finding the wall was easy. He began to trace the edge of the building with his hand.

Suddenly, he felt something hard and metallic against his head. Through the clearing steam, he saw the metal crane hook before him, swinging gaily. He cursed his clumsiness and dread filled him as adrenaline coursed through his veins, an automatic response to a perceived threat. His left hand, outstretched toward the nearby wall burst with radioactivity again, melting the wall before him. As the painful lump on his head continued to pound, he tried to relax himself, but his body's natural defenses wouldn't quit. His radioactivity refuses to fade.

Monica caught up to the man, who looked at her pleadingly. She nodded, "You're gonna have to trust me. Can you swim?"

His nodding was immediately returned with Monica grabbing his unirradiated arm and launching him into the bay.

Lyle came up the dock and called, "Swim out. Tread water until your power has faded. Come back and we'll take you and help you.

Darnell quickly followed their orders. He swam until he was exhausted and treaded water in place. He watched as his glowing hand returned to normal. One last puff of steam filled his nostrils and he turned away, glad to have his ability finally subside. He could feel the relief fill him.

He passed out, as the lack of oxygen in his blood had made him feel lightheaded. As water filled his lungs, his high gave way to a slicing pain in his lungs. He scrambled, trying to break the surface of the water.

Back on land, Lyle noticed him go under. "Dammit."

"I'll go get him. I'm the better swimmer."

Lyle grabbed her arm before she could jump. An intense yellow light lit up the bay as the water began to groan and bubble.

: : :

Carlos and Angela  
New York Public Library  
Manhattan, New York  
1977

Cradling her three-month-old son in her arms, Angela Petrelli approached the Riverside library and met a genial-looking Hispanic man her age standing on the step waiting on her.

"Carlos, how are you, dear?"

"Quite well, Angie. Is this little Gabe?"

"Gabriel," Angela pointedly correctly.

"Gabriel," Carlos stated to the infant, in his native accent, "Your _mami_ is concerned about your future. It's about time I introduced you to the wide world of books." He turned to Angela, who looked very unnerved. "Dreams, I take it?"

"Terrifying ones. I just need some validation," she pleaded.

Carlos just nodded and held the door open for her. On their way past the information desk, a librarian gave Angela and her bundle a weary look. Carlos stopped right before the shelves and inhales, closing his eyes, letting the scent of the books fill his lungs. When he reopened his eyes, they were white.

Walking blindly around bookshelves and reading tables, Carlos strolled through the aisles at a brisk pace that Angela struggled to keep up with. He would stop abruptly, carefully pull a book from the shelf, lay it on the growing stack in his arm and continue walking. After taking a tour of almost the entire first floor, Carlos stopped at an empty reading table and carefully laid his stack of books down. He took a deep breath and his eyes returned to normal. He started to massage his sore bicep.

The first book in the pile was a science reference book entitled _How Things Work_. Carlos idly flipped through it, passing the sections on clocks and car engines and light bulbs. "Maybe he'll become an engineer?"

"I wouldn't exactly call that a nightmare," Angela noted. Gabriel looked up at her with his ever-curious eyes. Maybe he would become an engineer.

Carlos shrugged and put the book aside, picking up a book on Mohican Indians. "Got any Indian blood in you?"

"Not that I'm aware of. Arthur would like to think he's birthing full-blood Italians."

Carlos opened the book to the first page on a chapter about scalping.

Angela gasped. "There was a lot of blood in my dream. People with cuts on their foreheads."

"Maybe it's a metaphor for something?" Carlos attempted. The next book was a medical textbook. Carlos opened the book in the middle of a neurology section. "Brain surgeon? That's not too bad."

"Scalping…" Angela muttered to herself.

Carlos quickly disposed of the book and picked up _The Art of Southern Cooking_. Praying he wasn't somehow going to open the page with the recipe for broiled pig's brain, he instead found himself reading a recipe for Belgian waffles, then Ziti Marinara with Romano and Parmesan, and finally authentic Georgia Cinnamon Peach Pie. He didn't even bother suggesting Gabriel was going to be a chef. All that was left was a young adult novel entitled _Mystery at Big Ben_ and _The Brothers Karamazov_.

"My ability is very interpretive…" Carlos began to explain.

"No, I understand. It's given me clarity into my visions." Lulling Gabriel to sleep, Angela took note of Carlos's paternal stare at the child. "I get the feeling that you and Christina might be ready for one."

"We want one," Carlos agreed, "But I'm not sure it's the time. The… Company takes me away a lot. The world's not ready to know about us yet. And if our child were to be… special… I don't know, I'd be scared for him or her."

"Carlos, do you know where Arthur was when Nathan was this little? Halfway around the world. And now Nathan adores his father. Don't make excuses."

"That's good advice. Thanks." Carlos began to restack the books. "Question, any reason why we haven't come up with a name for our little Company?"

"It's a secret organization. It's not like we're filling out 2643 forms for it."

"It's just… just calling it 'The Company' … it sounds so… villainous."

: : :

A/N: Sometime I think I'm wasting all my beautiful flashback montages on this series.

And since I'm not in the mood to add superfluous exposition, the reason Gabriel has reacquired his abilities in the future is that, as a sympathetic human being, he was able to feel regret for his past murders. Much like his regret of killing Brian David allowed him to keep telekinesis, he now has access to all his previous abilities. You're welcome for the fanwank, _Heroes_.

Started 12/1/2008. Finished 1/22/2008.


	17. Returning Ghosts

The World Entire, Chapter 17  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Pinehearst and Primatech deal with the aftermath of the return of Sylar. Team New Orleans struggles with Darnell's explosion.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." Just to be safe, make sure you're caught up with the show. I'm not going to add content from future episodes.

A/N: My apologies for the delay. I was caught in that massive ice storm that ravished the country. While I was lucky enough to not lose my electricity, my parents did, so I've had five people in my single-bedroom apartment for the last four days.

: : :

Chapter 17: Returning Ghosts

_The Chinese culture has a respect for the past. Part of their religion is the reverence of their ancestors. It was Confucius who said "Study the past if you would define the future." Perhaps for us, it is a lesson not to live solely in the present. Each of us has something to learn from the experiences that made us who we are today. It could be a defining moment. It could be an old friend that reminds us of a better time. It could be an ancestor who taught us something, even if it was something to avoid. It could even be the face in the mirror, whose past actions still haunt us. Regardless of which ghost of the past we face, can we really risk not heeding their advice? _

: : :

Sylar  
Port Reyes Prison  
San Diego, California  
2011

The ground of the Port Reyes Prison yard was bathed in red, both from blood and the rays of the setting sun. A lone figure stood among dozens of still, sprawled bodies, each one missing the top of the head and brain. Four of the bodies wore the red-and-khaki uniforms of the Powered Legion; the rest wore bright orange.

Brilliant orange flames flared around Sylar's hands. He smiled evilly, "I've been waiting for that one for a while. And this one." He leapt into the air, gliding to the north. On his way up, he passed Private George Palladino's scalped body skewered on the prison's barbed wire fence railing.

: : :

Nathan and Tracy Petrelli  
The Oval Office  
Washington, D.C.  
2011

Tracy rubbed her husband's shoulders. "Nathan, Baby, you're being grouchy."

"I'm the President. It's a very stressful job, you know."

Tracy hummed in sarcastic agreement. "You've been President for over two years. What's _really_ going on?"

"I turned our kind into soldiers," he admitted gravely.

"Nathan, they already were soldiers."

"Can you keep a state secret?"

"It was part of the orientation," Tracy replied flippantly.

"The NSA has evidence that Dad has assembled a group of 109 military personnel, mostly Marines, and injected them all, in secret, with the Formula."

"I don't understand."

"It's _his army_, Trace. There are three and half billion people out there without abilities, and he intends to remedy that."

"He's going to have a hard time. With the formula missing, there are—what?—a few thousand shots left?"

"That and most of the remaining don't _want_ abilities. That's what the army's for."

Steeling herself against the conclusion, she argued, "You don't think he'd…"

"I don't know what he'd do. It does beg the question, though, about _why_ he needs an army."

Tracy rubbed her husband's head. "Don't borrow worry." She changed the subject, "I noticed you replaced Agent Renfrass."

Half-grinning, half-scowling, he explained cryptically, "He proved too… gullible. Agent Landers is a lie detector. Much more effective."

Marty, Nathan's chief aide, entered briskly. "Sir, we have Private Dalton Henry of the Powered Legion here. It sounds important."

Nathan stood up at his desk, "Let him in."

Nathan saluted, but Dalton flatly ignored the gesture. "Mr. President," he addressed, almost incapable of saying it, "Sylar is back."

: : :

Monica and Lyle  
New Orleans, Louisiana  
2011

A truly spectacular ball of light below the surface of the bay caused the water to groan. All at once, a wall of water charged toward the bay.

"It's happening again," Monica said, her voice distant and full of dread.

Lyle grabbed his partner by the arm and started to pull her back. "Monica, come on."

The wave of water knocked them off their feet. The wall of water soaked them, but otherwise caused no damage to them or the surrounding pier. Monica's eyes, however, glazed over as she chanted to herself, "The levees'll break."

Lyle surveyed his drenched suit and told Monica, "It was one wave. The levees are fine. We need to find that guy and see if he's okay."

"The levees'll break; they surely will," Monica commented, her Louisiana accent becoming thicker.

Lyle sighed and looked out into the bay. He didn't see anyone struggling, but he did notice the water's strange steaming. "Monica…"

"Gov'ment ain't gonna do nothing to help us. Our houses'll fall down."

Lyle surveyed the bay again. "Monica, we just had an IR explode underwater. He could have irradiated the water. We need to process the scene."

"…doesn't care about black folk."

Screaming, Lyle related, "Monica, there was no hurricane. Katrina was six years ago. And, for the record, the President does care. He put you through college."

"I gotta make sure Damon's okay," Monica told no one in particular, talking as if in a dream.

Lyle regardless picked up his phone, "Carlson? This is Bennet. We just had the IR we were chasing blow underwater. I need you to send a water specialist. And perhaps a psychiatrist." He paused while Amy asked the inevitable question. "It's for Monica."

Removing his jacket and tie, Lyle dove into the gulf, hoping against all odds they hadn't lost another target.

: : :

Claire Bennet  
Port Reyes Prison  
San Diego, California  
2011

Claire watched as the bodies were carried off. Agent Pall super-sped back and forth, loading the bodies in bags and dragging them off. Flint stood to the side, impatiently causing bright blue flares.

Echo DeMille approached her. "We found the tops of the heads, Miss Bennet. Still no sign of the brains. Maybe he really does eat them." He gave her a half grin.

"He doesn't eat them," Claire replied firmly, not returning his smile. She continued to stoically survey the yard.

DeMille continued, "Look, ma'am, I just got a call from Gina. She's got another appointment…"

"Go. Pall can take the rest."

Pall stopped dead, "Hey, what?"

"Finish the job, Pall. It took four pints to heal you and I'm getting my blood's worth. You're lucky I didn't make you pay for the twelve-course meal I had to inhale to recover."

Pall scowled and continued moving bodies. DeMille tilted his head to the hole in the wall again. "Miss Bennet, we got media."

Claire cursed under her breath and stomped her way over, where she saw two men in their twenties, one with a camera and the other talking into a microphone. "We're here at the Port Reyes Prison just outside of San Diego, where there was allegedly an outbreak of prisoners with abilities. Witnesses claim they saw an unmarked military helicopter approaching this very area. Let's see if we can—"

"Hey!" exclaimed Claire to the duo. "This area is off-limits to the media."

"And just who are you?" The man with the microphone turned around. He found himself face-to-face with his old friend. "Claire?"

"Zach?"

"What're you doing here? And barking orders?" Zach looked her up and down; and turned to his scowling cameraman to give him the "cut" sign.

"I could ask you the same question," Claire automatically responded. She paused for a moment, shaking her head, and added, "I work for Pinehearst. Are you a reporter now?"

Zach looked down at himself, demonstrating his black jeans and a rock concert tee-shirt. "No, doing a documentary on Specials. Film project for school."

Briskly herding them away, Claire commented, "Well, this is a restricted area by orders of the President. If you give me your card, I'd be glad to set up an interview…"

Zach spun around and with an accusing look, "Are you seriously brushing me off, Claire?"

Claire stood resolute, "Look, it's been great to see you again, Zach, but a lot's change and I have a job to do." She noticed Zach wasn't paying attention. "Uh, Zach."

"What the hell happened here?" Zach asked, looking past Claire at Flint dragged one of the khaki-clad corpses out of the prison yard. "I just came to see if the rumors of a Special army were true. That guy doesn't have half his head. Does the Sylar Killer have anything to do with this?" Behind him, Zach's cameraman threw up.

"Zach, you don't know what you're getting into. Look, for your safety…"

Huffing, Zach spat, "Don't bother with the bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo. It's weird coming from you. Nice hair by the way."

"Zach," Claire pleaded.

Pall zipped behind her. "Ex-boyfriend?"

"Shouldn't you be doing work? I'm seriously regretting giving you that last pint."

Pall shrugged and zipped away.

The prison yard was suddenly lit with bright blue flames as Flint grinned for no reason.

: : :

Matt Parkman  
2011

Matt watched as Sylar approached another house. It was nice two-story in a beautiful suburban neighborhood. The sun was lemon-yellow, the trees spherical balls of green on brown tubes. Sylar knelt down beside the over-large doorknob to study it. He wiggled his fingers at it and an elaborate set of gears and pulleys disengaged the lock. Making sure to enter without making a sound, he entered, Matt following against his will like a ghost on a string. An unseen radio was playing "Lean on Me" by Bill Withers. A forty-ish man was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal featuring a smiling sun on the box and reading the comics in the _Los Angeles Times_. With Matt facing the man, Sylar removed the top of the man's head with a quick wave of his hand; the skull cap bounced into the wall. Matt didn't even wince when the spray of blood struck him, Garfield, and Charlie Brown. Sylar continued to hold one hand out, keeping the body still, as he carefully removed the brain with his other hand. It made a popping sound as it exited the skull. He surveyed it as one might an antique vase.

Sylar used the outstretched hand to touch the man's body, covering it in a thin sheet of ice.

"James, Sweetie," a woman's voice suddenly came from the kitchen. "When you're finished with breakfast, can you go check on…?" The woman entered the dining room, where she laid eyes on her scalped, popsicled husband. She turned her eyes to the black-clad Sylar and screamed, who with the wave of his wrist slammed her telekinetically against the stairs. He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. He walked to face the terrified woman. "Are you Molly?"

After a pause, the woman nodded furiously. Sylar peered around the hallway and telekinetically yanked a framed certificate from the wall. He remarked icily, "So, either you let your husband keep a framed marriage certificate from a previous marriage on the wall," Sylar challenged her, "or you're lying to me and in actuality…" A framed picture of a 4-year-old girl flew from the wall. "…this is Molly."

With tears in her eyes, the woman pleaded with a pathetic "Please," before blanching. Matt noticed a spatula embedded in her stomach.

"It hurts," the woman cried.

"It won't hurt much longer." He tilted his head.

She turned her eyes toward the dining room again and creaked out a groan. Matt followed her eyes and noticed the dozens of knifes and other kitchen implements hanging in the air. One by one, they lunged forward, claiming a portion of Mrs. Walker's body.

While the implements were still piercing holes in the woman, Sylar began to ascend the stairs. Moments later, a young girl tiptoed back down, her face filled with intense concentration. Quietly, she opened a door underneath the stairs and slipped in, only inches from her slain mother, who she didn't seem to even notice.

She then turned her head to look straight at Matt. For the last few hours, no one in the nightmare had taken notice of Matt. But Molly looked straight at him and he heard her voice in his head. "Help me."

They heard Sylar coming back down the stairs and Molly shut the door silently. Sylar took a brief glance at Matt before continuing his search. Matt, determined, broke into a run and slammed Sylar into the wall, inches from Mrs. Walker.

"You won't get her," Matt promised as he laid a punch on Sylar's face.

Unaffected by the blow, Sylar replied, "Oh, I will, Parkman. And when I do, I will take her ability." He voice grew to a roar. "And I will tear this house apart until I do." Sylar flailed his arms and the entire house came apart at the seams.

Matt found himself alone in a field, kneeling and agitated. He was no longer in Los Angeles, but San Diego, a few hundred feet from the Port Reyes prison.

Resolutely, he walked down to the prison yard.

: : :

Adam Monroe  
Primatech Research Facility  
Hartsdale, New York  
2000

When the door opened to his cell, Adam's first thought was that Elle had come early. Adam lost his sense of time long ago, but his internal clock still told him it was too early for his daily Session o' Pills and Pain.

But his visitor was not Bob's unbalanced, flirtatious teenage daughter but the austere, white-haired Daniel Linderman.

"Daniel, what brings you to my home sweet cell?"

"You've been in this cell for 8,409 days. It's the fourth of September, 2000 and…" with a cursory glance at his watch, he finished, "2:08 in the afternoon."

Adam absorbed this information and smiled, "Thank you. You've saved my sanity for a while."

"Your time will come, my friend."

"Or you could let me walk out," Adam challenged.

Briskly, Daniel corrected him, "You'll be recaptured, only with one less friend to visit you and one additional neighbor."

"Why waste your time on me?"

"I'd like to think I might drop in on mates every once in a while."

"You put me in here."

Slighted, Linderman corrected, "_Arthur_ put you in here. Bob keeps you in here. That's a lot to go up against. You'll be easier to free from the outside than the inside."

"Why waste your time? I hear things are smashing in Vegas."

"They are. But you're important to me, Adam. I believe in you. You're my captain. And I protect those close to me."

Adam put a sarcastic hand over his heart, "That's touching. How are the others?"

"Kaito is well. Haven't heard from Victoria in a while. Charles's health is still deteriorating. He'll be lucky to see the end of the decade. Arthur is as megalomaniacal as always. I'm worried about Angela. Arthur continues to manipulate her."

"Always did fancy her a bit."

"Once upon a time, you had quite the crush on her, too."

"I've been married ten times. I've outgrown love."

"Yet you say you'll marry the woman who saves you."

"It's the least I can do. What woman wouldn't want to marry a man fifteen times her age and die looking a third of his?" Adam sat back on his bunk, still appearing to be on the good side of thirty.

"Bob's daughter seems to have a bit of a thing for you."

"She gets me out, and I'll make her my bride. Shag her then kill her 'cause the broad's a bit too mad for me." He made the obligatory crazy gesture.

"I'm thinking about implementing the New York Plan."

Adam sat up with an approving look. "You always were my favorite, but you're not in charge. Arthur, correct me if I'm wrong, seems to favor the Dandelion Plan."

Linderman scoffed, "It's such an _American_ idea. That anyone in the kingdom can have the treasure, not just the king."

"Hey, I fought in the American War of Independence."

"Support the home country?"

"Support the pocketbook."

His voice haughty and accent thick, Linderman replied, "You scoundrel. I hold you in a level of contempt equal to Irishman."

Adam laughed, "Says the ex-pat who's spent more time in the States than the Mother Country."

Linderman dropped his airs. "I support her. I am fiercely devoted to advancing the perception that Britons are intelligent and cultured."

"You live in bloody Las Vegas, catering to vices."

"Which is filled with _Americans_." He then added, "And Japanese."

"Don't knock the Japanese. I've found them to be quite a good lay. Even English whores are a lot of work. I bedded a married noblewoman with less work."

"I do wish you'd shut your gob."

"Afraid it was one of your glorious ancestors?"

"I dread the day I realize my great-great-great-grandfather was your bastard child."

"Perhaps we are closer. Did you bring a picture of your mother like I asked? Just in case?" Linderman remained stoic, and Adam abandoned his charade. "Daniel," Adam asked sincerely, "…my sword."

Gravely, Daniel noted, "I'm defending it with my life. From Kaito. From Arthur. From them all."

: : :

Micah and Mohinder  
Suresh's Lab  
Lower Manhattan, New York  
2011

Mohinder finished covering Barbara in webbing.

"That's really creepy, Mohinder," Molly related. "She's not…?"

"Dead?" Mohinder cut off, "Absolutely not. I can secrete a toxin which puts her in a temporary stasis. It's only until we figure out what do to with her. Once Peter returns, he's thinking of stranding somewhere deserted."

Mohinder looked down at the remains of Micah's robot. "That's quite an interesting device you have there."

"Thanks," Micah related humbly, "it's apparently not very durable."

"You'd be surprised. Scientists have been studying spider-webbing to built better bullet-proof vests. It cut through mine quite effectively."

"I know," Micah noted.

"I can see the gears turning," Molly stated to Mohinder.

"Crop-dusting."

"Huh, random, I was expecting obscure," Molly noted.

"The Formula, it's a biological compound. It could be imbedded into some sort of airborne pathogen. Now, airplanes will be tightly controlled, but…"

"Small robots could fly under the radar. You want to use the dragonfly as a distribution system."

Mohinder began to pace, "How long would it take you to build more?"

Micah's answered honestly, "It took me months to build this guy." Mohinder visibly frowned. "But," Micah added, "I did give him some interesting skills."

Micah took the wingless robot over to a damaged metal table and touched his creation. Immediately, it began to crawl along the table; a small tube emerged from below and a barely perceptible beam of light struck the table, causing it to smoke. After crab-walking a full loop, the robot lifted out the small rectangular scrap of metal and place it aside.

"I don't understand," Mohinder questioned.

Micah explained, proudly, "That would be the piece for the bug's left side."

"Are you telling me that your robot can…?"

"Self-replicate? Given sufficient scrap metal and computer leftovers, yes."

: : :

Elle Gray  
Level 5  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California  
2011

Elle briskly charged through Level 5 on the last leg of her monitor duty. In one hand she held her cell phone and the other she kept held up toward the windows. As she passed each room she would check to make sure each cell was appropriately occupied. Before any of them got a chance to make a lecherous comment at her, she fired a burst of electricity at the window which startled them enough for her to get by.

"Gabriel!" she seethed into the phone. "This is your _wife_! Message number twenty-four. I don't know where the hell you are, but when I find you, I will kill you. And if you're already dead, I'll unkill you just so I can kill you! _You know that's possible!_"

As Elle turned the corner, she encountered the source of her aggravation. Immediately, her anger melted as she raced to embrace her husband. "Babe, I was so worried. You know what I'm like when I'm angry."

Danny Pine, from his corner cell, screamed out, "You f***ing bitch!"

"Gabriel, where's your phone? And did Nathan's little Boy Scout troop round up the bad guys? What the hell's—"

Elle was shut up as her husband, now dressed in all black, telekinetically threw her into the far wall. Sylar grinned as he approached his wife.

"I can taste your power already."

Elle discharged a massive burst of energy into Sylar. After a graceless landing, she commented dryly, "You always were a glutton for punishment."

Sylar rolled and extended his hand again, but Elle was ready with another electrocution to his arm.

"Babe, don't you realize what you're doing? The consequences of your actions." Intensely she told him, "If you kill me, you will _never get laid again_."

Sylar just surveyed Elle with a perplexed expression.

Shaking her head with frustration, she picked up Gabriel by his not-yet-healed arm and dragged him down the hallway she had just exited. "You are in Level 5, where the world's most dangerous Specials are kept in cages, and you go after my silly sparks? Look at this guy," she gestured toward Danny Pine, who had formed two metallic arms with he strained to hold up threateningly as he inched backwards. Elle moved him forward to Eric Doyle. "And this one, he can make anyone do whatever he wants. I know a couple of times when you've probably wanted that." He frowned at her. "Bad time for naughty jokes? Sorry. Or…" she dragged him to the end of the hall. "I know you're a little death-phobic. I bet you couldn't wait for this one." She whispered in his ear enticingly as she laid her head over his shoulder.

Sylar's evil grin returned as he looked into his son's playpen.

Elle escorted her husband into the room. Noah tossed aside the saw blades he was folding and ran toward his parents, screaming with joy, "Mommy! Daddy!"

Before he could reach them, Sylar mentally threw his son into the far wall. The boy landed spread eagle, cracking the cement wall behind him, giggling. "That was fun, Daddy!"

"Then you're gonna love this," Sylar whispered to himself and he raised his hand with his finger pointed toward his son.

: : :

A/N: Okay, so now that the show's restarted, I have more inspiration. Luckily, there shouldn't be such a long wait for Chapter 18, since it's mostly written.

These chapters just keep getting longer. Mostly, it's because I'm very close to a climatic point and I want to keep everyone's plots going at full speed. I'm also trying to keep track of my own continuity and that requires increasing amounts of planning and fact-checking.

And, yay, Zach. It's taken far too long for you to join us.

I just wanted to add that I'm thankful for all my loyal fans. You're always so full of questions and theories, and the fact you take this almost as seriously as the show makes it worth it.

Started 12/19/2008. Finished 1/10/2009.


	18. Beckoning Titans

The World Entire, Chapter 18  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Elle hands Noah over to Sylar. Team Rogue gets a surprise visitor. Nathan watches his kingdom crumble.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." I'll pick and choose ideas from Volume 3 as they occur, but won't include information from future episodes.

A/N: The stretches between chapters are getting longer and I apologize for that. The weight of each chapter just keeps growing: they're getting longer and I have to pay more attention to both the future chapters and especially the past chapters.

: : :

Chapter 18: Beckoning Titans

_Storms. Fires. Droughts. Famines. Conquerors. Death. These are the things that led the cultures of antiquity to believe that they worshiped proud and demanding gods. So, to gain favor, they sent gifts… sacrifices. The Israelites burned crops and slaughtered livestock. The Greeks did the same for their pantheon. The Aztecs practiced human sacrifice. Even today we are not exempt from holy duties. Muslims make pilgrimages to Mecca. Jehovah's Witnesses proselyte from door-to-door. Latter-Day Saints do as well, and take missions of good works. Many Christians become missionaries, spending years helping the poor, sick, and broken-hearted. Some become monks or nuns. Buddhists become ascetics like founder, Gautama, did. True as it is that we have free will, there is no denying that we live our lives by codes. We are bound to obey the laws of our country. We follow the rules, spoken and unspoken, of our jobs and our families and ourselves. Do we dare deny the wisdom our forefathers? Can we submit ourselves to the duties we cannot defy? Or else, face the consequences. The storms of chaos. The fires of punishment. The famines of love. _

: : :

Sylar, Elle, and Noah Gray  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California  
2011

The struggling 4-year-old writhed violently as Sylar held his progeny against the cement wall. In his mind, Sylar could see all the little parts of his son. Every cell of his body stood ready to catalog any damage and to prepare to erect new barriers against harm. Like his grandfather, his father, and his uncle, Noah's DNA was ready to activate new code.

Sylar's first attempt to slice open his son's head proved fruitless. His extra-durable skin had a harder composition and an interlaced cellular configuration that made the effort of breaking apart the cells too extensive even for Sylar's telekinesis. But a quick mental analysis told Sylar the weakness. This time, he cut the skin inside to outside. It still took extreme effort, but a small slit began on to form on Noah's head.

Feeling major pain for the first time in a week, Noah screamed in agony.

And suddenly he wasn't Noah anymore. He was Elle with a line of blood across her forehead. He was Claire, the cap of her skull gone, blood staining her blond hair. He was Brian Davis, his face mangled beyond recognition. He was Trevor Zietlan and Zane Taylor and Ted Sprague and Bridgette Bailey and Charlie Andrews and the two dozen nameless inmates and five unknown soldiers, their eyes lifeless.

When Gabriel became aware of himself again, he was shivering on the floor of his son's cell. He watched Elle discharging a massive ball of electricity and raced over to hold her son.

The young boy wrapped his arms around her leg, causing Elle to wince. She wrapped her hands around his head and kissed it. "It's going to be okay, Sweetie." She turned her head to scowl viciously at her husband.

Noah peaked around her leg. "Why is Daddy crying, Mommy?" he asked.

Elle, not taking her hands away from Noah, replied, "Because Daddy was a bad boy and got into trouble and…" she finished poisonously, "Mommy's going to throw him in time-out now."

She turned back to her son, noting the cut on his forehead was already scabbing over. She kissed it, leaving her lips raw. Noah disentangled himself from her leg, leaving her pant leg in tatters and her leg covered in small cuts. Noting the damage, he started to apologize profusely. Elle sweetly stopped his plea, telling him, "It's okay. You were scared. I can get new pants and I'll just tell people I cut myself shaving. A dozen times. It was dull razor."

A relieved Noah went back to practicing holding drinking glasses.

Elle turned back to the crumpled heap of husband on the floor and extended two electricity-filled fingers toward her husband.

His voice weak and speech broken, he asked, "How could you… let me… I almost… do that… our son?"

Elle's face softened and she dropped the outstretched hand. She crumpled over and knelt down to kiss her husband on the forehead.

: : :

Mohinder, Molly, Micah, and Peter  
Suresh's Lab  
Lower Manhattan, New York  
2011

Micah sat at a table against the wall, repairing his dragonfly robot. He was meticulously scraping off the spiderweb-like substance on the metal wings. Behind him sat Molly at the center table, reading through a thick folder full of dossiers written in Japanese. She stared at the picture, concentrated, and then wrote down the name and location on a yellow legal pad. Beside her was Mohinder, spraying aerosol cans on microscope slides and looking at the results.

Peter was scribbling on the chalkboard, occasionally teleporting in and out with more files from the abandoned church on a remote Japanese island.

There was a gust of wind as a petite blond woman appeared apparently out of nowhere. In her arms was a sleeping infant. She eyed a speechless Molly, now too stunned to speak. Daphne's eyes scanned the room, seeing a teenage boy building some sort of insect-like robot, a humanoid creature covered in scales, and the terrorist Peter Petrelli with the infamous diagonal scar marring his face.

As Peter took a step forward, Daphne prayed, "I have a baby. Please."

Peter telekinetically yanked the baby from her arms and placed it in Molly's. "Don't do anything rash," Peter commanded.

Daphne rushed forward toward Peter. Peter, however, felt time slow down around him, almost like Hiro's ability, and he was easy able to jump away from Daphne, who leapt up onto the chalkboard and thrust herself forward along the back wall. Peter began to follow, blocking her from attacking Mohinder.

"How are you doing this?" Daphne asked, still in super-speed.

"Mimicry. I copied your ability the moment you stepped into the room."

"Well, let's see how good your copying skills are."

Daphne raced out of the room at an inhuman speed, even at Peter's accelerated perception. He chased after her through the streets of New York. She was familiar enough with the maze of the Manhattan to quickly lose Peter, but not for long, as Peter was capable of flying. Daphne wondered if he had absorbed some ability that allowed him to track her as well. With another burst of speed, he lost her again.

He finally caught up with her in Southern Michigan, then again in Bellefleur, Oregon. She tried every tactic to shake him. He plowed through snow mounds that Daphne glided over on the Northern tip of the Yukon. He was immune to the smoggy air of Mexico City. She took a detour to the Dominican Republic, and even though he apparently didn't know the trick for skimming across water, he somehow found her again in Brazil as she was admiring the Carnival festival.

"Strange. It's not even _close_ to Mardi Gras," she heard him whisper in her ear.

"Tourist trap," she responds calmly, showing Peter a souvenir Carnival mask. No sooner were his hands on the item than was she gone.

As she navigated herself through a colony of penguins in Argentina, she heard him call out to her. She began to run backwards, seeing penguins being tossed aside telekinetically as he raced toward her. The penguins landed on their feet and began to waddle back unaffectedly toward their mates.

"I'm not trying to hurt anyone. I'm working with your husband," he called out.

"Matt?" The surprised caused her to trip over backwards.

But when Peter approached her, she disappeared again. He chased her until he found her at the Ventimilla Summit of Mount Chimborazo in the Andes Mountains. They met up again at the Port Reyes Prison in San Diego, but fled when they noticed several sedans approaching. Peter found her again at the Alamo; then again at the Indianapolis Speedway; then again at the U.S. Department of the Treasury; and finally again back at Mohinder's lab.

Before his eyes, Mohinder found Peter and the disappearing blond woman panting their lungs out.

"Apparently I got the wrong impression," mentioned Daphne as Molly raced over with her baby sister.

"I explained it all to her," noted Peter.

"Explained it all?" Mohinder remarked with confusion, "This woman appeared here not fifteen seconds ago. How on earth could you explain the intricately complicated situation that we find ourselves in?"

"My mom's really fast," explained Molly.

"Mom? Wait, are you Matt's wife?" Mohinder smiled, "Daphne? He's told me so much about you. I'm Mohinder Suresh." He extended his hand, which Daphne eyes warily. He revoked it, remarking, "Actually, most people wouldn't want to do that."

"You're Mohinder? You don't look anything like your picture."

Mohinder smiled, "I'm afraid not. This is what happens when you don't get the Formula right."

: : :

Gabriel and Elle  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California  
2011

Gabriel was shivering on the bed, his head in his wife's lap, as she stroked his hair methodically. He finally worked up the courage to speak, "Elle, how could you do that? Save yourself and point me toward our son. I could have…"

"Gabriel, what's the worse that could happen? That our son _dies_?" She remarked flippantly. "Gabriel, I had to save myself. Someone had to protect our son." Her hand stopped stroking his head and she grabbed handful of hair.

"But my abilities…"

She sent a stronger-than-usual spark through Gabriel's head. "Trust me. I would have found enough electricity in me to reduce you to a pile of ashes. Regeneration or no regeneration. And if that didn't work…" She pulled out a pistol from the back of her jeans. "Bullet to the back of the head." She sent another spark in the spot where she would have shot him. "You wouldn't have time to stop me; I wouldn't have hesitated for a second. And since the cartridge is full, I would have followed it up with sixteen more, equally spaced around your head." She illustrated with more sparks around his crown, and finished by taking a hold of the hair on the back of his head. "If your skull didn't fall off, I'd bash your head against the wall until it did. And if your brain wasn't in enough pieces for my liking; we have a woefully underused blender." She fired a streak of lightning into the kitchen. The sound of the indicated blender permeated into the room briefly. "_Nobody_ hurts my son." She laid her hand on his forehead so that he'd look into his eyes, smiling.

"There's a reason I married you." Gabriel took hold of her face and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss lingered, and, feeling her hands beginning to untuck his shirt, he pulled away. "Ten seconds ago, you were plotting my horrific death. You sure change moods fast."

Toying with the clasp on his pants, she replied, "And this is news to you?"

"I guess not," he replied, rising to a kneel, grabbing his wife by the shoulders, and roughly shoving her flat onto the bed.

Well over an hour later, an unclothed Elle sat on top of her exhausted husband and she amused herself by causing the muscles in Gabriel's hands to twitch with her power.

"So, you got a host of new abilities then?" she finally asked.

Sleepily, he replied, "I did. Without the hunger suppressing my emotions, I'm not going to be able to call on them until I internalize the guilt." He pushed away her tormenting hand and flicked his wrist as if to activate pyrokinesis, but only managed to cause a spark to travel to Elle's outstretched hand.

She flinched. "You feel bad about killing a zapper already?"

Gabriel's brow furrowed. "There weren't any. None of the inmates or Legionnaires had electrical generation." He again made his hand spark.

"You sure?"

"I have enhanced memory. I'd recall."

Elle slithered on top of him. "Is that why you were in top form today? You set the bar pretty high for future… _missions_."

"Well, with you yammering instructions the whole time…"

She cut him off, "Excuse me? Don't get a big head, but I wasn't exactly coherent back there. I wasn't giving you instructions." Gabriel's brow furrowed and Elle commented half-annoyed, "I know that look. What're you figuring out?"

"I have telepathy." Elle just shrugged. He continued, narrating mostly to himself, "I think when Parkman attacked me, I was able to get into _his_ head, too. My ability is all about the mind, so maybe I was able to get to it just by being inside his head." Elle twisted her lips and nodded overdramatically. He proudly announced his conclusion, "Maybe that's how I was able to access your ability. Mental intercourse."

"Now you're just getting me excited all over again."

"I may not survive the day."

"Oh, come on; you _knew_ this is how you were gonna go."

: : :

Claude Rains  
Odessa, Texas  
1999

As he descended in free fall off the bridge, Claude's only thought was that the bullets were too shallowly embedded in his skin. Bullets shot from a pistol at ten feet should have been through-and-through's. After a few seconds, he crashed through something. It felt like a plate-glass window.

Except that was impossible in the forest. Then it happened again.

_It can't be real glass_, Clause thought, _real glass is harder_. Claude had been put through three windows in his time. The first two he survived merely because he had been able to shoot through them to soften the blow, along with wrapping himself in a coat to protect him from the shards. The third was California safety glass, which didn't break into sharp pieces, meaning he suffered painful gashes instead of his skin being turned to linguine.

He fell through the strange barriers four more times, suffering whiplash each time, before gravity finally put him on the soft earth below, which was not near as soft as Claude would have liked. He was content to wallow in his pain for a while, but someone came and helped him to his feet. Standing was the very position he _wasn't_ in the mood for, given the bullets and the whiplash and the bruises, but the Good Samaritan eased him under the bridge and laid him against the incline.

Before him was a teenage girl with black hair. He called out to her, "Abby, what're doing here? Bennet…"

"Bennet thinks you're dead and doesn't know of my existence."

"So I suppose I've got you to thank for that magical ride down?"

"My fields aren't at 100% yet," she apologized as she began to unbutton his shirt. She noted the two bullets embedded just below his skin. Without another word, she held her hand above him. The edges of the bullets began to shimmer with a bluish tinge and were soon forced out.

"Bloody hell!" Claude screamed at the sudden onslaught of pain.

Abigail simply wrapped her jacket tightly around Claude's torso and held pressure on his wounds.

Breathing heavily, Claude managed to cough out, "I'm the one who's supposed to be protecting you."

"Sorry for the role reversal," Abigail quipped, "At least we're free."

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"Your file. It wasn't at Primatech. Arthur has Bob looking after it in Hartsdale. We'll need to head to New York."

"Claude," Abigail pleaded.

"What?"

She embraced him in a tight hug, "Thanks… for protecting me."

Groaning, Claude returned the embrace. "I promised your mum I would. I like to keep my promises."

"And we'll go back to London?"

Claude nodded. "Soon. First, Hartsdale."

"Actually, first, doctor."

"I've had enough doctors for one lifetime."

: : :

Matt Parkman  
Lower Manhattan, New York  
2011

Matt stumbled into Mohinder's laboratory, finding only his daughter holding a checklist and a red pen, and Micah studying a rougher-looking version of his dragonfly robot and sneaking glances at Molly.

Molly raced to hug her father. "Dad! Where'd you go?"

"California. I had to take care of something," he noted gravely.

Molly ignored his tone. "How'd you get there and back so fast?"

"Airplanes. I was able to convince flight attendants that I belonged on the flight. And that it was going back to New York instead of, Albuquerque or wherever."

Molly eyes lit up. "Dad, you're not gonna believe it!"

Before she had a chance to respond, Daphne appeared in the room, "No-go on Byron Bevington. His house was broken into and he's missing…" She looked up and muttered off at the sight of her husband. She soon found herself in a crushing, spinning hug. They began to kiss passionately, but were interrupted by Molly clearing her throat.

"Sorry," Daphne muttered insincerely to her daughter.

"But, you were in a coma," Matt mentioned.

"Well, you know how some people spend like twenty years in a coma? Well, I pulled it off in two days. What up?"

"How did you find us?"

"Well, first thing I had to do was find clothes, because my hospital robe came untied…" Matt grinned lecherously and Daphne chided him coyly with a head tilt toward Molly, "Anyway, it takes a little while to find something in my size. So then I started searching you out. Checked at home. Checked at work. Checked our hangouts. Checked our safe houses. Finally figured maybe you'd sought out your old life partner."

"I wish you wouldn't call him that," Matt noted uncomfortably. "Where Daniella?"

"Uh, Peter should have him."

"He's on our side, you know."

Daphne nodded knowingly, "Yeah, we had a track meet across the continent where we worked that out."

"Is that where the tequila bottle came from?" Matt picked up the glass vial of amber liquid off a table full of strange rectangular holes.

"Yeah, picked it up in Guadalajara."

"You had pesos on you?" Off Daphne's non-response, he glowered.

"I'll return it. Or pay for it." Matt's scowl didn't disappear. "Look, old habits die hard." Matt continued to look disappointed. "See, _this_ is why cops don't marry thieves."

Matt nodded. He called out to the back, "Hey, Pete, you got my daughter?"

Mohinder emerged with the toddler. "Peter had to run an errand. I've got her." Daniella was giggling in his arms, grabbing his scaly nose. "She doesn't seem to mind my appearance. In fact, she seems to rather enjoy pulling out my scales and trying to put them in her mouth." Off the panicked looks of the parents, Mohinder clarified, "I said 'trying.'" He quickly seized another crispy scale from her tiny fist and tossed it away. Daniella, unfazed, reached toward his ear.

Matt asked, "We tried to get Molly to find you. She couldn't."

Daphne shrugged, "I can't explain that."

Micah, carrying his robot, approached the couple, "Not to rush this beautiful family reunion," he noted without sarcasm, "but a lot has happened since you left, Matt. We've got a new plan of action."

: : :

Nathan Petrelli  
The White House  
2011

Nathan stood alone in his office, only the light of his desk lamp and the glow of the large television tuned to GNI Network News. His face was marked with deep creases as he watched the news solemnly.

Ngozi Badu, the beautiful Nigerian anchor, reported, "Only nine days after the Costa Verde disaster, a series of terrorist attacks by suspected Specials occurred today in the United States. A Pensacola, Florida man has been arrested by the newly formed Powered Legion after destroying several beach-front homes. Also, a man in Chicago, Illinois was captured for attacking the front of the John Hancock Building. No one was injured, but damages were in the hundreds of thousands of US dollars."

Alistair Coles, the blond Scottish co-anchor, followed, "Abroad, Costa Rica experienced massive forest fires, losing almost twenty square kilometers of rain forest land. No word yet whether a Special was involved, though Costa Rican investigators have teamed up with the United States' Powered Legion to examine this possibility."

"A Special in the Czech Republic is responsible for at least five deaths and more than a hundred injuries to the population of his small town. Details are forthcoming. A massive explosion struck the Eastern coast of Indonesia today, causing tsunamis, flooding, and thousands of deaths. No trace of explosives was found, and an unnamed Special is suspected."

"Scientists with NASA and CERN were baffled today when the Moon appeared to drift down several thousand kilometers toward the Earth. It quickly fell into a shorter but stable orbit, but they caution that a moderate increase in tides will occur. Many coastal countries, including coastal US states, have declared a state of emergency. U.S. Senator Daniel Doyle criticized the President for being, and I quote, 'soft on Special criminals' but added his praise for the newly created Powered Legion and their early, divisive action."

Tracy entered the room without knocking. "Nathan, baby, Marty's looking for you. He wants to get in a press conference tonight."

Nathan recited to her, "The Malden Bill authorized the building of a prison for the Specials, built by Pinehearst, called Titanhold. In the event that a Special is deemed too dangerous, divisive action can be taken, including bondage, depoweration, or execution." After a long grave silence, he asked, "You see the problem with locking the Specials with the most dangerous abilities in the world in one prison controlled by my father, who now has authorization to absorb their abilities if he sees fit?"

"You don't think he would…?"

"You don't think he _wouldn't_?" Nathan snapped back immediately.

Tracy replied with silence.

There was a knock from the door, and Marty let himself in, flocked by Usutu and four Secret Service Agents. He asked, "Mr. President, are you ready?"

"Yes, Marty," he replied.

Agent Landers shuttered but made no comment.

"Let's do this," Nathan declared. At once, Marty left the room to retrieve the camera crew. Nathan took a seat at his desk. Tracy knelt beside him and adjusted his tie. Agent Renfrass, tall, dark, and astute, stood by the entrance, while the willowy bespectacled Agent Landers took her place in front of it, ready to question the entering camera crew members. The beefy Agent Braham stood to one side of Nathan's desk, pumping his fist. Agent Lake stood on the other, breathing deeply. Usutu took a seat at the far end of the room.

The overlarge moon hung low in the night sky behind Nathan in the window.

Displaying none of his typical charisma, Nathan began speaking into the television camera, "My fellow Americans, no doubt you have heard about the tragedies occurring today…"

: : :

Pinehearst Company  
Fort Lee, New Jersey  
2011

Arthur admired the moon from his office window. He turned to his assembled associates.

Flint stood wide-legged with flame bursting alternately from each hand. The Haitian stared at him from across the room, clearly debating whether to disable his ability. Claire, with her arms crossed, showed no emotion. Her team hung behind her, towering above her but exuding much less power. Echo DeMille remained aloof as he fiddled with the ring on his finger. Edward Pall tapped his foot and twirled a quarter between his fingers; both actions were done with such speed that they were a blur. Piper Johanssen tried to pop her fingers, but they of course bent backwards.

Arthur finally spoke, unable to keep a grin off his face, "Congratulations. Our army is performing admirably. Some of the most dangerous Specials on our planet have been captured and incarcerated in Tartarus. So their… intriguing… abilities are no longer a threat to the world.

"And you all have done exceptional work. You handled the Port Reyes incident and kept it under wraps.

His tone changed to melancholy. "But all is not well. Miss Zimmerman has yet to check in with her progress on retrieving the second half of the Formula. We are down to only a handful of injections, which has brought a halt to our income. Our tenuous alliance with the Presidency has final broken, though we do retain the upper hand for now. In addition, we've also lost several quality agents in the past week.

"But no worries. We will be on the winning side of this war. It's a biological imperative."

: : :

Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California  
2011

At the front entrance of the Primatech facility, Angela extended her hand to her guests. "Miss Carlson, so nice of you and your agents to join us."

Amy Carlson nodded, "It's my honor, Mrs. Petrelli. Given the day's events, I thought it was a most prudent idea. I brought my premiere team. This is Monica Dawson and Lyle Bennet." She gestured back to the agents.

"I'm familiar with them both."

"Hey, Scrappy," Elle catcalled to Lyle, "nice threads."

"Sparkles. Nice serial killer," Lyle replied in the same tone of voice.

Elle took the remark in stride and, as if she were describing a new purse, she held her husband's arm and mentioned, "It's he the cutest? I even got him on sale."

Bess rolled her eyes. Ryan grinned at the strange endearment between the two.

Angela turned to her returning agent and welcomed him. "Vic, welcome back. I hope you don't mind, but we've shuffled some people around. I'm partnering you with Miss Redhouse. She's still a little green and she could use some training."

Victor surveyed the attractive Hopi woman and nodded appreciatively. "I don't mind at all. What happened?" he asked, indicating the sling on her arm.

"Oh, you know, tree fell through my shoulder. It's still a little stiff."

"I know the feeling. My right knee's never been the same since a telekinetic threw me into a Nissan Titan."

Audrey whispered to Meredith, "Your old partner's kind of a flirt, isn't he?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't flirt with me. He knows my husband could kick his ass."

Lyle noted Monica had separated herself from the group and was starting at the moon.

"Monica…"

"New Orleans is gonna flood, you know," she commented without turning to face him.

"You heard what Thayer said. Minimal flood damage. They'll fix the levees and erect walls along the lower beaches…"

"I'm just tired of my home being beaten down by God."

Lyle chuckled. "It takes more than a little water to defeat The Big Easy."

"We're in for the fight of our lives her, Bennet. How can you stay so optimistic?"

"My dad saved the world a hundred times and he still made it home for dinner most nights. He died doing the same. I'm not letting the world fall on my watch."

"Did I ever tell you you're a hell of a partner?"

"No," Lyle remarked plainly.

"Well, there's a reason for that," she remarked sarcastically.

: : :

Mohinder's Laboratory  
Lower Manhattan, New York  
2011

"It's not going to be safe here much longer," Matt reiterated.

Daphne fed her daughter with a bottle, nodding. "Micah, you sure about this?"

"Aunt Tracy thinks I'm using the safe house for a LAN party."

"What's that?" Molly asked.

"Hook up a bunch of computers together and play games."

"Shoulda figured," Molly commented before Micah could go on. She took hold of a small plastic terrarium containing Little Mohinder.

Mohinder entered from the other room, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and carrying a bag. As all stared at him, he noted, "While it's refreshing that you're so used to my looks that you don't think I need to hide myself."

"Actually, we, or at least I was, were thinking you should put on gloves."

Mohinder produced a pair from the front pocket of his sweatshirt.

"Glad to see we're on the same page."

As they stepped out, they marveled at the visible increase in moonlight, especially over the brightness of the City.

: : :

Pinehearst Company  
2011

Peter deposited the unconscious Barbara on the ground near a dumpster outside the Pinehearst Building. As she began to stir, Peter laid a hand on her throat.

She began to glow with an ethereal white light, which drained from her body into Peter. Groaning, she promptly fainted again. Peter leapt up into the sky and flew off to meet with the Parkmans and Mohinder.

: : :

A long line of cloud stretched across almost the entire height of the Earth through the Pacific Ocean, lit by an ominous orange glow.

: : :

A/N: So, I've got bad news. I have to go on another hiatus. For plot reasons that will make sense later, I can't write 19 until I finished planning the rest of the series (at least three more chapters).

Also, I tried putting the story down on a timeline. It turns out that the events in each chapter are not happening concurrently, though within a day or so of each other. Also, I was surprised to realize that everything that's happened so far (in the 2011 present) has taken place within the span of nine days.

Started 1/18/2008. Finished 3/9/2009.


	19. Every Moment

The World Entire, Chapter 19  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: The Powered Legion picks up their targets. Bad things are to come.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." I'll pick and choose ideas from Volume 3 as they occur, but won't include information from future episodes.

A/N: This hiatus just went on way too long. I was able to assemble the ideas I need to finish the series, but as you'll note by the increasingly large periods of time falling between new chapters, I'm growing very fatigued. Luckily, the finale is in sight, so no worries about me abandoning this work. Honestly, I've very proud that I will be able to complete this.

: : :

Chapter 19: Every Moment

_Animism is the belief that all things, __**everything**__, has a soul. People. Animals. Plants. Rocks. Thunder. Mountains. Rivers. Great philosophers from Plato to Aristotle to Aquinas espoused such beliefs. Many tribal religions incorporate animist beliefs. They respect the sacredness of all things. Every moment. Are they that far off? Do we dare ignore the significance that emerges from even the simplest and unprofound events? Perhaps if we were able to know the truth of every occurrence, we could then understand the truth of the universe. _

: : :

The Wests  
Pensacola, Florida  
September 8, 2011

Dan and Katie West watched as their 3-year-old daughter raced toward the ocean across the sand-covered beach. As a wave splashed at her feet, she screeched happily and ran back to her both, her feet tossing sand right and left.

She asked to build a sand castle and her mother allowed her to do so. At first, she had difficulty, but after a tip from her father to use wet sand, she had a lumpy palace emerging from the sand.

"Sweetie," Katie asked her husband, pointing toward the castle, "look at that wall, it kind of looks like a face."

Dan laughed and agreed, at least until the sand-face's brow lowered. The sand began to move of his own accord and started to take the shape of a man. The girl ran away, screaming.

"Katie, take Maggie and run," Dan instructed, as his body faded from sight. The women raced away and Priv. Marc Stanley, finally reincorporated, chased after them, only to be thrust aside by the invisible man. He punched widely at the air, but could not make contact. Not wanting to risk another unseen attack, he dissolved back into his grainy second form and started to spin his body, sending waves of sand around. He could now make out Dan's outline. He raced forward and tackled the man to the ground, handcuffing him.

On the other side of the beach, Kate and Maggie laid low, underneath a wooden deck. Stanley emerged from the ground behind them. He was not silent enough to escape Maggie's ears, who screamed out to her mother. Kate grabbed the man's still-sandy arm and yanked him forward into a wooden column. Still part-stone, Stanley crashed halfway through the wood without any injury and lunged at Kate, who kicked him again. The attack managed to throw Stanley into the adjacent column, but at the expense of tearing up the bottom of her bare foot. The heavy deck above, which in turned held the front beams of the decks of the beach's many cliff-side cottages, began to whine under the weight. Stanley burst into action, grabbing both the wife and the daughter, and racing them away from the dock, which soon collapsed.

The chain reaction was quick. The two damaged columns split sideways, ramming into the columns next to them. The reinforced platform resisted warping, forcing the remaining columns to bear the accumulated weight of both the heavy-duty deck and the housing columns on top of them. Before long, half a dozen more beams buckled under the weight and splintered outwards. The platform walkway snapped in the middle, leaving the unsupported side to tumble into the beach. Meanwhile, four balconies were ripped away by gravity from the fronts of the houses. Brick and stone was torn from the outer walls and two bay windows shattered from the force.

Back on the beach, Stanley shielded Katie and Maggie from the rain of wood and sand, allowing him to handcuff them, too. He called on his radio for transport.

: : :

Charlie Andrews  
Burnt Toast Diner  
Midland, Texas  
October 9, 2006

Charlie was puzzled. She had not two minutes ago—she remembered looking at the clock on the wall and she never forgot anything—she had left a plate of blueberry waffles and cup of coffee on Table #13 to a cute guy with dark hair, and now his plate was cleared, his cup empty, and he was gone. He'd left two fives on the table as payment. Both bills featured the new-fangled design, but the back of one of them featured an unfamiliar face beside the Lincoln Memorial: a man with black hair and a square jaw.

: : :

Yamagato International Sales Team  
September 11, 2011

On their way back from Washington D.C., manager Kin Egami complimented his team. "You guys did real good back there. You'll all be seeing that reflected in your bonuses."

Not three feet overhead, a grey object sped by. "What the hell was that? A goose?" one of the salesmen asked.

"It was buzzing," one of the saleswomen commented. She dropped out of the sky. After a moment to process her sudden descent, the team flew after her, only to find their abilities too disappearing.

They screamed.

: : :

Ray Lee Coulomb  
Chicago, Illinois  
September 8, 2011

Ray Coulomb glided effortlessly across the street, trying his best to escape the strange, khaki-uniformed man chasing him. The ground slid underneath him without hindering his progress, as did the air, which scarcely brushed his skin despite him moving at the speed of a champion runner.

The wind roared around him, even greater than a typical Chicago day. This annoyed Monroe Auster, who controlled the wind currents that didn't seem to slow down his target. But as he watched the cloth banners rippling in the wind, an idea came to him. He sent an especially potent gust toward the John Hancock's flag pole, ripping the American flag down and directing it toward Coulomb. The man became tangled. Though the fabric slid across his without friction, it impaired his balance, and he tumbled to the ground, gliding like he was on ice.

Auster's intense back draft used the flag as a sail, pulling the victim back to him. Coulomb turned off his ability, causing the flag to fray across the asphalt street. Not to be outdone, Auster created a powerful under-draft that tossed the tangled man into the air only to fall at his feet. Unfortunately, this sudden gust toward him also shattered all the windows of the first five floors of the John Hancock behind him.

"We're gonna have to burn that flag now, you know that? Some people have respect for the colors."

: : :

Juana Gris  
Monteverde, Costa Rica  
September 8, 2011

Juana sent feelings of kindness and trust into the spider monkey, which despite the overwhelming fear it was emitting earlier, accepted. He climbed down to study the strange woman before him.

In truly awful Spanish, a man's voice said to her what she assumed to mean, "You're going to come with me."

She noted the _gringo_ in the sweat-stained khaki uniform bearing the American flag. She sneered at the man, telling him that he had no right to arrest her outside his own country.

Gris only spoke Spanish, so Wyatt Carey was at a loss to what she said. He replied to her, in English, "Listen, _señorita_, we can do this the easy way or the hard way." He pulled out a pair of plastic handcuffs and sauntered over to her.

Suddenly, the monkey on her shoulder leapt toward him with intense fury. It was only because of Carey's Army instincts that he was able to pull out a knife to block the attack. The monkey fell to the ground, bleeding, and Carey cursed.

"Lady, you're making this difficult on yourself."

Gris continued to stare down at him with the same fury that the monkey had. From behind her, the sounds of the rainforest became louder. Carey could easily pick out the sound of a troop of monkeys and the loud buzzing of some horrific oversized insect.

Carey lit his hands on fire and created a small ring of fire around him. He noted Juana straining as two dozen similar monkeys jumped and screeched with fear at the sight of his fire. A swarm of mosquitoes showed no such fear and dived toward him. Not one made it to him before he'd reduced the entire swarm to ash.

Juana was still defiant, so Carey sent a stream of fire up into the tree line. A single branch fell through the foliage and knocked Juana down, pinning her to the ground. He cuffed her and told her. "Hey, I _gusto los _monkeys _también_. Took _mi chiquita_ to see them last week at _el _zoo. _No_ make me set them on _fuego._"

: : :

Claire Bennet  
September 10, 2011

Claire struggled with all her might against the telekinetic forces. Her eyes looked out to her comrades, too fearful to help her. She felt the soft tingling sweep across her forehead. Had her nervous system been functioning, it would have hurt. Only the blood beginning to obscure her vision let her know that her head was indeed being split open.

: : :

Reid Cipris  
Sedlec, Kutná Hora, Czech Republic  
September 8, 2011

Reid Cipris carefully climbed up the worn ladder resting against the weathered metal water tower in the small Eastern European town. At almost sixty, his once shaggy brown hair was almost all gray. Below him, dozens were gathered, looking up hopefully. He eased open the rickety hatch and looked into the container. While more than three-thirds full of water, it was stagnant, algae-covered water He reached in and laid his hand against the surface of the water. Almost instantly, the water began to bubble and steam. Mineral precipitates sunk to the bottom and collected at the pointed base, below the output tube. Cipris held out his hand and a small net was handed to him. Again, he touched the surface of the water and all the algae floated toward him. A few scoops cleared out the tower of the offending contaminants.

Cipris descended the ladder, suddenly finding the crowd had dispersed outward, minus a single male figure. He was tall, built, and blond with gray-green eyes. He wore a red-trimmed khaki military uniform. On one shoulder was an American flag badge and on his left breast, a name badge declaring his surname "RICH."

"Reid Cipris?" he asked, pronouncing the name better than Cipris would expect from an American.

Cipris reluctantly replied, "Ano," in as affirmative of a tone as he could manage.

Private Rich stated, slowly, in passable German, "Gekommen mit mir. Bitte." _Come with me, please._

Cipris took a step back and most of the townspeople took several steps forward, crowding Rich.

"Everyone stay back," he warned in a harsh tone, harkening every away. He held up his hand and the water tower shuttered, rattling on its metal legs.

The crowd did not back up, so Rich send another wave of vibrations at a middle-aged man holding a staff unthreateningly. The stick shook in his hand and he dropped it. Rich again spoke to Cipris. "Nothing is going to happen to you," he lied, "I just need you to register your ability."

The crowd screamed menacingly. Rich huffed and sent a concentrated vibration wave at Cipris's shoulder, knowing it would cause only muscle spasms, temporarily incapacitating him. He then sent a broad wave at the crowd; they fell backwards like bowling pins. Rich's ability could easily kill a person by vibrating their brain tissue, causing seizures, or their heart muscles, causing heart attacks. A broad wave like the one he'd just used would cause minimal damage: a lot of sprains, maybe a few broken bones, and no deaths, unless someone was especially frail, which, unfortunately a few of the elderly townspeople were. Rich could do damage control later.

He pulled out his com unit and called in his transportation, "Hey, it's Terry, I've got him. Bring the chopper around."

: : :

Zach  
San Diego, California  
September 11, 2011

Zach braced himself for the quake that struck suddenly. He looked out at the ocean and his eyes widened. Not a hundred yards out, a wall of steam began to rise. He raced away from the water, climbing the sandy hill. He tripped on the thick grass and fell backwards, landing on his ass, looking back out at the sea, now noting that the ocean water seemed to be sinking where the steam rising, like water draining from a tub.

: : :

Xun Narada  
Surabaya, Indonesia  
September 8, 2011

In a flash of blue light, Xun appeared on the docks of Surabaya, on the coast of the island of Java. After several teleportations, he was finally outside the city. He looked around, seeing much fewer people than inside the city, just a few fisherman in their small wooden boats.

He looked back, hoping that the five-block leap put enough distance between him and the two khaki-clad American soldiers. He looked down at the boats, none of which belonged to him. Xun's father was a fisherman but saved enough to send Xun to vocational school, allowing him to become an accountant's aide.

A semitransparent dome of orange surrounded Xun. The dock gave out from under him. The soldier's—Rothschild was his name—ability tended to slice up whatever object it came into contact with, starting with Xun's desk. Xun teleported out to the nearest boat he could see. It's times like this when Xun wished he traveled more so that he could find further places to teleport away to.

The soldiers were in eyeshot again. Xun started the motor in his little [dingy] and boated off, hoping to lead them as far as he could before…

The boat splintered from the bottom up. The other soldier could create small explosions. Rothschild dove into the water and a sphere of orange surrounded him and Xun. "Don't try that again, smart guy."

"Foog you," Xun noted, allowing himself to be dragged back toward shore. At least until they reached the dock. A firm shoulder to the jaw gave Xun his freedom. He took a deep breath and teleported to the first place he could think of.

He found himself about ten feet underwater. A couple colorful fishes welcomed him to a favorite snorkeling spot from his younger years. So did painful yank of his head. Xun spun around and found a very panicked soldier behind him, "NOBEL" on his name tag. Having teleported with Xun sideways, perhaps because he was mid-leap, he was disoriented and began to swim in a slightly downward angle. Xun tried to point toward the sun and the rise of the bubbles, but the water confused Nobel's sense of direction.

Xun swam up to get another breath of air as to save the soldier. But as he put his face back into the water, he heard a terrible rumbling and a bright yellow light.

The resultant earthquakes could be felt across the Java Sea and Indian Ocean. While the damage was minor on land, Philippine geologists reported that the strange explosion had aggravated the Java Trench Fault.

: : :

October 9, 2006

The two halves of the Genetic Modification Formula, now taped together, slowly burned to ash.

: : :

Father Tafari St. Pierre  
Tulear, Madagascar  
September 8, 2011

The Saint Maurice Catholic Church was a small building on the southwestern border of Madagascar. The front of the church featured a prominent crucifix with a dark-skinned Jesus. Several statuettes of traditional Vazimba demigods labeled with both the Madagasy names and their angelic counterparts. It was late in the night, just in time for the moon to shine through a skylight in the roof of the small but well-built chapel.

It was their annual Sea of Galilee service. The reverend called out to his congregation, in his native Malagasy, "Praise the Lord!"

His congregation echoed him.

"Praise the Son!"

"Praise the Son!"

"Praise the Ghost!"

"Praise the Ghost!"

During the prayer, St. Pierre felt the emotions of all his congregants and they all felt one another, too. A dear friend several months ago had given him what he'd called "American holy water" in a syringe, proclaiming it granted miraculous powers. He showed St. Pierre his ability to quickly heal from any cut, leaving only a faint white scar. "And that's not all. I gave an injection of my blood to a friend suffering from the disease of our generation and he remained without symptoms for a full week.

St. Pierre had taken the injection and he too could perform miracles. During his prayers, the whole of his congregation had their minds open to one another, and as the Holy Ghost descended upon them, their warmth was multiplied among them.

St. Pierre looked up when the doors were kicked open and a group of five men in khaki military uniforms with guns raced in. While this was not uncommon in his country, St. Pierre had tried to make no political enemies, but if word of his miracles had gotten out, no doubt the next president of his country would want his "support." But these men's uniforms sported the flag of the United States.

The leader of the group, Sgt. Isaac Whitehead, spoke to him, in European French, "Mr. Sainte Pierre," he began, mispronouncing his name and improperly addressing his reverend status, "we need you to come with us."

St. Pierre called out to his congregation, "There are devils among us!" It was an exaggeration and a metaphor, but it got the job done. His congregation, feeding off the fear and anger of one another, stood at once and faced down the soldiers. A few foolhardy youths leapt out and received non-fatal bullet wounds for their trouble. In unison, St. Pierre chastised the boys and the Sgt. Whitehead told his men to stand down.

But it was too late, the back four rows, having identified Whitehead as the leader of the intruders, grabbed at him. Whitehead calmly amplified the gravity of his body, making him prohibitively heavy. Then, he caused the congregation to be attracted to the far walls.

He ears burned as he suddenly heard all of their terrified thoughts. This distracted him enough for the congregation to again charge him, slamming him down on the altar above the skylight, where moonlight crept in. He watched the moon, and through the daze that struck him against the hard wooden platform, as it grew larger, as if descending toward Earth.

: : :

Berlin, Germany  
September 11, 2011

Eager scientists watched the eclipse, surprised to see that the normal corona of the sun was not present, as the moon seemed twice as large against the back ground of the sky. This created an intense darkness which lasted several hours and covered the majority of the continent.

: : :

International Space Station

"Houston, what the hell's going on down there? There's big damn red cracks all across the oceans."

: : :

A/N: So, this was supposed to be a nice series of vignettes meant to show the real story behind the "Special Terrorists" interspersed with foreshadowing of things to come to create suspense. It didn't work as well as I thought it would. I'm not saying it's without merit, but it comes off as just filler that neglects all the plot lines with the main characters that made this series so fun to write. This type of chapter was fairly new to me, and I'm not the type of writer who does things right the first time. Hopefully, I'll do better in another series.

Unfortunately, it was far too late to push these points to a later chapter. This hiatus was not near as productive as the last one.

One good note is that Chapter 20 will be out much quicker than the last few chapters and it will be a return to style featured in Episodes 6-18.

Started 2/1/2009. Finished 4/13/2008.


	20. The Moment of Conflict

The World Entire, Chapter 20  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Pinehearst tries to overpower the Company.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." I'll pick and choose ideas from Volume 3 as they occur, but won't include information from future episodes.

A/N: Okay, I finally got this in publishable condition. It only took two and a half months. I hope you think it's worth it.

: : :

Chapter 20: The Moment of Conflict

_Truth is a commodity. Those that take claim of some metaphysical truth break away from a different truth. Buddhism forms out of Hinduism. Judaism forming out of Idolatry. Christianity out of Judaism. Catholicism from East Orthodox. Protestantism from Catholicism. A hundred denominations emerge. These thousands of schisms create conflict. The fight over truth. The righteous versus the damned. Law versus crime. Mountains are torn down. Forests are set ablaze. Blood saturates the ground. And out of this massacre, the truth will rise out of the ashes, shining a beacon to all. It illuminates the rumble that where majestic mountains once sat, the coals where proud trees once stood, the mud where human life was spilled over the dirt. But does this truth rejoice or weep? _

: : :

Barbara Zimmerman  
Pinehearst Company  
Fort Lee, New Jersey  
September 10, 2011

When Barbara stumbled into Arthur's office, the entire Martial Division was standing around their boss.

Arthur warmly welcomed his associate, "Ah, Miss Zimmerman, so nice of you to join us. I assume you have the other half of the formula?"

"No," Barbara replied steely, and explained with gravity, "Peter has joined forces with Suresh. I was almost able to subdue both of them, but I was interrupted. Peter overpowered me and they've kept me in stasis for several days. I woke up outside the building. Peter has removed my ability."

"It seems I've overestimated you, Miss Zimmerman."

"I can finish the job, sir," Barbara noted confidently, "I have more tricks up my sleeve than just my ability. I'll just need some prep time."

Arthur considered this development. "Miss Zimmerman, you seem to forget our hiring policy. You're underqualified." With a swipe of his fingers, Barbara was sent flying into his outside window.

The window cracked, but did not shatter. Barbara bounced back with a bloodied face and an arm broken in two places. Pathetic groans came from behind Arthur's desk. Piper yelped.

"Just goes to show you," Arthur noted, "that windows are a little thicker and stronger than you think." Arthur mentally lifted Barbara and swung his arms forcefully, sending Barbara back into the window. For half a second, the window held as it distended outward before bursting open, sending a mangled Barbara to fall seven stories.

Piper spun around, covering her eyes. The rest tried to remain stoic against the messy scene. Arthur turned back and began to speak, "Where was I?"

"Are you kidding me?" Echo voiced loudly.

"Mr. DeMille, do you have something to add to the conversation?"

"Look, I'm well aware of Pinehearst's severance policy, but you just _shoved_ that woman through a _plate-glass window_. You're a psychopath!"

"Mr. DeMille," Arthur hissed coldly, "I'm going to have to have that window replaced. I'm sure I can get a two-for-one deal." The adjacent, intact window groaned menacingly. "I would think, given your history, you'd want your son to grow up having met his father."

Echo sighed and nodded. "I understand, sir. I apologize for the insubordination," he spoke through gritted teeth.

"Duly noted," Arthur replied, "now, onto the anniversary party."

: : :

Nathan Petrelli  
White House  
Washington, D.C.  
September 10, 2011

There was a stack of bright red folders half a foot high on his desk.

Agent Renfrass entered the room, Agent Landers behind him giving Nathan a nod.

"Jaime, what can I do for you?"

"Just wanted to give this to you, Mr. President. Colonel Kendrick said it was urgent." Renfrass handed Nathan an envelope, which he opened and scanned.

"Thank you."

Renfrass nodded and turned to leave.

"You know how many folders there are?" Nathan asked.

Renfrass looked at the pile. "I'd say ten, maybe fifteen."

"You know what's in these folders?"

"We all know what kind of dossier is in a red folder."

"If I weren't the President, I probably wouldn't have been able to get my hands on these from Titanhold."

"Sir?"

"I'm just talking. You're excused." Renfrass bowed his head and exited the room.

Nathan sat down at his desk and put his hands in his head. After a moment of contemplation, he picked up the phone.

: : :

Angela Petrelli  
Primatech Research Facility  
Hartsdale, New York  
September 10, 2011

Angela strode through the hallways with Amy Carlson beside her. "Amy, are you people ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," Amy replied obediently, and grabbed her mobile phone to call Monica and Lyle.

Meredith popped out of a holding room and caught up with her boss. "Mrs. Petrelli, we ready?"

"Yes."

"You sure you don't want me…?"

"I've got a building full of agents. I need you elsewhere."

Meredith asked, "Won't Arthur know...?"

"No, I've know that man forty-seven years and he's never encountered a situation that he couldn't be overconfident in. You want to how it all goes down?"

"If it were important, you'd tell me."

"And how is our guest?" Angela inquired with odd sweetness.

"She'll live. And she's ready for the mission."

: : :

Monica and Lyle  
Primatech Research Facility  
Hartsdale, New York

The first sign of the invasion was powerful flash of floodlights from the front of Primatech, briefly backlighting Lyle and Monica. Edward Pall, after passing a laser trip wire, was momentarily blinded and crashed into a tree.

Monica gave the thumbs-up to Lyle. Both of them wore heavy-duty sound-cancelling earbuds. Monica scanned the area and caught sight of Echo DeMille. She leapt up into a nearby tree and readied her firearm. Lyle spun behind a tree. He waited until white noise blared in his ear. Several windows shattered and his cover tree shook, its leaves falling, but he was no worse for wear. He spun and fired at the man running toward them in the distance. Rubbing bullets knocked him to the ground and Monica briskly made her way to him.

Lyle was soon confronted with a tall blonde woman who acrobatically landed before him. Recognizing her from her profile, Lyle knew she was an elastic, able to contort her body superhumanly. He fired a tranq dart at her shoulder. Piper easily shrugged off the dart and spun-kicked Lyle. Lyle leapt up and tried to tackle her. She twisted her arms until she had him in an arm-lock. Lyle thrust himself to the ground, dragging her with him and handcuffing her in one swift motion.

Monica effectively dodged all of Echo's sound attacks. The earbuds protected her from his more clever uses of his ability: ultra-high notes and ultra-low notes. His attempted to switch to his limited martial arts abilities against the preternaturally gifted St. Joan left him facedown in the dirt.

Meanwhile, Piper relaxed her joints allowing her to slip out of both Lyle's hands and the handcuffs. She made a sprint toward the building. Lyle tried to close the door on her, but her head was already in. Lyle twisted his arm, capturing hers, but her ability to pop her joins back and forth allowed her to eventually get out of Lyle's grasp and inside, limb-by-limb. She made short work of the guards. The invasion had begun.

Arthur suddenly faded into sight not far from Monica, and walked toward Primatech without a care.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Petrelli," Monica noted confidently, "I can let you in."

Red lightning struck Monica, and Arthur took a hold of Echo and both disappeared in an aura of white light. They reappeared inside the building. Echo, massaging his sore muscles, asked, "Since when can you do that?"

Arthur didn't answer, just disappeared and reappeared with the unconscious Edward, who he unceremoniously dropped on the ground. Arthur extended his hand and waves of heat struck Pall's body. He convulsed and awoke.

"Heat emission," Arthur noted plainly, "Come on, time to work. Capture them all. I need to go wish my wife a happy anniversary."

Arthur took the stairs, leaving Echo and Edward to race down the hallway. They arrive at a door just in time to see a brunette head smashed against it, spreading blood.

"I thought this was a strictly capture-not-kill mission," Echo remarked fearfully.

The bloodied head pulled away. And through the red haze, the petite figure ran back.

"That would be Claire," Edward explained unnecessarily. "Would you like to do the honors?"

Echo screamed and the metal door flew off the hinges. Behind it, they saw Claire racing toward Bess, who craftily dodged the charge, grabbed Claire by the arm, and used her weight to slam into the nearby wall. Claire didn't even groan as she scraped herself off the wall. A surge of electricity launched Claire down the hall before she could perform her next attack.

Claire found herself at the feet of her male teammate, staring blankly.

"Geez, guys," she chastised as the burns on her face healed, "could you _be_ more useless? Piper's already made her way to the atrium."

Echo screamed, sending a concussive sound blast down the hallway. Bess tackled Elle into the nearby supply closet. Edward raced after them, but was thrown backwards.

"Ain't faster than lightning, are ya, Sweetie?" Elle taunted the unconscious Edward. Bess leapt out of the closet and threw a glass jar of clear liquid down the hall at Claire and Echo. Elle sent an arc of lightning after it, bursting it and lighting the flammable liquid. Claire shoved Echo away as the burning liquid covered her.

Echo took the opportunity to race by the distracted Elle and Bess and turned the corner. He burst into the atrium. Piper was currently facing off against Ryan Covington; the two of them were fighting over a pair of handcuffs, each trying to bind the other. Ryan showed remarkable determination and skill. It wasn't until Gabriel came to his aid, chilling Piper enough that Ryan was able to handcuff her to a ramp railing after a well-placed knock to the face with the back of his head.

"She's not going to stay like that," Gabriel cautioned knowingly. He turned away from her, fighting his hunger. Echo took this opportunity to sound-strike the pair. Gabriel telekinetically shoved his partner out of the way, and took the force of the sonic boom. His ears began to bleed, but he rushed Echo, holding him against the doorway with one hand and a ball of radioactivity in his other.

"How're you able to walk? That blast should have shattered your eardrums!"

"Feather hitting the ground, dump truck hitting the ground. All sounds the same to me. Your little tantrums aren't doing anything against me."

"Aren't you married to the zappy blonde one? Left her with Claire."

"Elle's her aunt."

"I seem to recall she shot her uncle."

Gabriel's face fell. He dropped Echo. "Karma's a _bitch_," he said, screaming the last word with enough force to launch Echo into the next room. "Hey, Ryan, deal with that one." He raced off.

He found his wife and Bess fighting Claire. Claire shrugged off electrocutions and painful _Systema_ attacks while handing out damage that did not immediately heal. Gabriel mentally slammed Claire into the wall. "Hey, Detskij, Covington could use your help. Elle and I have special plans for this one."

Bess surveyed him suspiciously. Gabriel responded, as way of explanation, "She's our niece." Bess accepted this answer and ran off. Once she was gone, Gabriel told his wife, "Time for presents."

A shot rang out and Gabriel, with a hole in his head, fell backwards. Elle turned and saw Claire, released from her telekinetic bind with a pistol in her hand. Elle sent muscle-debilitating-level lightning into Claire, with lecturing, "Who raised you?" while with her foot rolling over her husband.

: : :

Micah and Matt  
C&C Scrap Metal Yard  
South Brooklyn Harbor, New York  
September 9, 2011

A dozen metal dragonflies swarmed the junkyard as Matt and Micah watched.

"Micah, we don't have near enough."

"We've got something called 'exponential growth' helping us."

"Yeah, geometry was never my strong suit."

Micah shook his head at the error. "What was your strong suit?"

"Not important," Matt deflected.

"Think about it like this, Mr. Parkman. You know how when you have a boy bunny and a girl bunny, and pretty soon you've got hundreds of bunnies?"

"That's just in the cartoons."

"It's an illustration."

"Art's not my strong suit either."

Micah breathed calmly. "If you have two bunnies, soon you have four bunnies. But now that you have four bunnies, they have more baby bunnies faster. Same principle."

Matt looked up and noticed that there were now twenty robots. "Huh," he remarked.

"It takes my robots about two hours to create a duplicate. If I can find enough scrap yards to send them to, theoretically, we'll have over three-hundred thousand within sixteen hours."

"That should be more than enough."

"I said theoretically. That's not counting travel time. Material scarcity. We'll be lucky to have a few thousand by tomorrow. The next day, we should have enough to go through with the plan. Especially if I can get swarms to India and China by tonight."

"Well, that's good."

After a long silence, Micah asked thoughtfully, "Mr. Parkman. You used to be a cop, right?"

"Yeah. Plan to get back to it if the world doesn't end."

Micah took special care in choosing his words. "You probably have guns at home."

Matt replied casually, "A couple, yeah. Why?"

"No reason," Micah noted quickly. "And I get that you're pretty protective of Molly… and the rest of your family," he added hastily. "That with all the running around the country. Attacking serial killers. Maybe bring back up next time," he chastised lightly.

"Point taken," Matt replied uncomfortably. "Well, of course I'm protective of my family. I mean, Molly's been in danger her whole life. I'd do anything to keep her safe. Wouldn't you?"

"Wouldn't I keep Molly safe?" Micah asked, sweating.

"I actually meant your family, though…"

Micah cut him off, "No, I would and I do. I keep close tabs on Monica and Damon. You know, protect them from computer stuff. Viruses. Identity theft. And I recruited a couple of trustworthy byte-talkers for my Uncle Nathan." When Matt wasn't looking, he surveyed the older man warily.

When Micah wasn't looking, Matt surveyed the teenager. "You're pretty smart, right?" Matt commented as offhandedly as he could.

"I, uh, yeah, I guess you could say that. Well, I'm not going to brag about my IQ or anything, but… school's my thing. I like learning stuff… and knowing stuff. Do I sound nerdy?"

"Nerdy's fine. I mean, dads like intelligent guys. I mean, intelligent and wisdom… and good choices are important," Matt struggled, "I wasn't too smart and I could tell my dad wished I were. Not so much 'cause he in particular was. I mean, he was pretty mechanically inclined, like you. Though, not at all even in the same league. But it was more 'cause he wanted me to make something of myself."

Micah thought through his words, "So, you'd probably want Molly to date, you know, guys of some intellectual capacity."

"Among other things," Matt replied, "but, yeah, smartness would be a good quality in the kind of guys I'd like for her to date. Theoretically."

"Theoretically," Micah echoed.

Matt and Micah stared it opposite directions as their discomfort drained.

: : :

Angela and Arthur Petrelli  
Angela Petrelli's Office  
Primatech Research Facility  
Hartsdale, New York  
September 10, 2011

Angela stood staring out the window. "Are you here to kill me, Darling?" she asked without turning around.

"No, Sweetheart. I still love you. We didn't come to kill anyone. This is just business."

"Just Business. Just to capture us and take away our abilities so we can't stop you from injecting or executing the rest of the world."

"Kidnapping. Illegal medical experimentation. Conspiracy. How exactly do our organizations differ?"

Angela turned to the monitors. "It's quite a battle royale down there. I'm surprised you're not part of the action."

"I'm an old man, Angie." He, too, looked down at the screens where their agents viciously fought. His eyes descending lower to her hands. "Still wearing your wedding ring, I see."

"You've still got the same old scuffed-up trinket on your finger."

"I told you that our marriage would be the stuff of legends."

Arthur took his wife's forearms and turned her toward him. He leaned in for a kiss, which Angela reciprocated. The monitors showed excessive destruction occurring to the atrium.

She slapped him after a second. "Didn't think it was going to be that easy to get it, did you?"

"Can blame a man for resisting the urge to kiss his beautiful wife?"

"Peter," Angela spoke, looking down at the monitor.

Arthur followed his wife's eyes. "What's he doing here? Did you call for him?"

"What good would that do me, Arthur? He's a thorn in my side, too."

"He doesn't put bombs in your buildings." With this, Arthur telepathically attacked Angela, who immediately fell to the ground with a bleeding nose. "That was easy," Arthur commented, surprised.

: : :

Victor and Sparrow  
Primatech Research Facility  
Hartsdale, New York

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," Sparrow joked to her new partner as waves of blue flame erupted down the hall.

Hiding on the other corner, Victor laughed, "In this line of work, I get plenty of practice. Wanna see something funny?"

Sparrow shot him a challenging look as he pulled the fire alarm. The sprinklers came on and Flint's distinctive Arkansan accent cursed a blue streak.

Sparrow leapt out of the corner, screaming, "Language!"

As the hallway shook, Flint tumbled to the ground. A mix of flame and steam was shot back at the agents. Sparrow leapt away just in time, but screamed as she slammed her shoulder into the ground.

Flint turned the corner and was about to take his opportunity to subdue the woman went a blast of white smoke extinguished his hands. After the smoke disappeared, he collapsed to the ground, his face blue and gasping for air. Victor stood over him with a red fire extinguisher.

Before Sparrow could thank him, he was knocked to the ground by Piper on top of Flint's passed out body. Victor quickly recovered, spinning out of the way as Piper's foot came down on him. He kicked at her knee, but found the tactic ineffective as her rubbery knee popped back into place.

"Gonna have to try harder than that," Piper taunted.

The same white smoke suddenly billowed against Piper's body, and Victor kicked again, this time Piper was thrown backwards.

"Good thinking with the extinguisher," Victor noted, "ice cold gas."

"Oh, is that why she was brittle all of a sudden?" Sparrow questioned. "I just figured you needed the distraction. Thanks for the chemistry lesson, though."

Victor and Sparrow locked Piper and Flint into cell. They raced back to the atrium, where they found Peter Petrelli, one hand aflame and the other cackling with electricity, stomping through the room, peering menacingly at the agents, who had ceased fighting.

"I don't want any trouble. I just need to talk with my mother."

"Your mother is indisposed, son," Arthur stated, "however, if you need a parent, you can talk to your ol' Dad." He extended his arms welcoming; the effect was nullified by the surge of red lightning from his hand that shot out the nearest overhead light or the wave of heat warped the tile floor below him.

"We both know she has half of the Formula."

This piqued Arthur's interest, but before he could respond, the far wall crumbled down with a puff of black smoke and grey ash. Flint, followed by Piper, stepped out. Flint looked up at Arthur's angry face and said, "Oh, sorry, boss, were you in the middle of one of your speeches? Go on."

"There's been a change of plans," Arthur commanded, "The other half of the Formula is here. Find it." He looked around, "And where's Claire? I have another assignment for her."

"This Claire?" Gabriel asked from the doorway. All eyes turned to him. He had Claire telekinetically held in the air. She struggled vigorously, dislocating joints and breaking bones. Elle stood on her other side, a hand brimming with electricity pointed at the back of Claire's head.

"Gabriel," Arthur warned, "that's your niece you've got there."

"I'm not going to hurt her," Gabriel replied, sending a small bolt of lightning at his father, surprising him with the new ability, "Well, actually, that's a blatant lie." He smiled at his wife, who shared in his glee.

Edward made a run towards his team lead, but was thrown back by the electricity surrounding the trio. "Everyone calm down," Elle warned as the entire room stayed quiet.

Gabriel took his finger to Claire's forehead, splitting it open with his telekinesis. A line of blood was drawn across her forehead, but she didn't as much as flinch.

"You've already got it," Claire noted.

"Yes, but I told you, I'm not here to take anything, just to give something." In his mind, he felt the ticking noise, but he drowned it out with his thoughts. "The human body is quite remarkable," he began to monologue, "Even normal humans, not Special like us, have amazing brains." With this, he finished the full cut and pulled off the top of Claire's skull, taking off large chunks of hair. "You see, the human brain has the ability to react to injury with pain, to let the body know it's in… suboptimal conditions." He started poking around Claire's brain, causing her to twitch. "However… when the pain is so great that it's debilitating to your survival, your brain will actually shut off its pain centers to keep you conscious and alert." Claire managed to glare at her attacker. "Having your head split open is pretty painful, so when I did this the first time, your brain did just that—it turned off its pain centers to allow you to fight back." He grinned and chuckled to himself. "However, your body has only evolved to react to human dangers, not my telekinesis, which rendered you incapable of fighting back. My prediction," he for once looked at her, to make sure she was paying attention, "is that your body never turned the pain centers back on, which is why you've been numb for the last four years." Gabriel mentally grabbed Claire's skullcap and popped it back onto her head like one would a sugar jar. Her skin sealed. "So, my present to you is this."

He wound back his arm and punched Claire in the face with such force that her jaw visibly cracked and her head cracked the cement block behind it. Elle discharged her hand and watched the scene play out. Claire screeched angrily from the ground, standing up holding her bruised, swollen jaw, which remained that way for all of five seconds. After a bewildered curse, she noted, "That… hurt."

Smiling, Elle told her, "Welcome back, cheerleader." She sent a spark to Claire's ear, who jerked away.

Dazed, Claire stumbled down the stairs. She passed by Flint, Echo, Edward, and Piper, who gave her wide berth as she wordlessly ignored them. She made a straight line toward Peter, who eyed her apprehensively, as if expecting to be shot again at any moment. Instead, Claire wrapped her arms around him, and he quickly returned the embrace while remaining alert to the dozen people still in the room. Neither broke the hug for a long while.

Elle quipped, "Get a room." Her husband glared at her. She nodded. "Oh, I just realized why that was inappropriate."

Claire whispered in Peter's ear, "Get me out of here."

After a quick sweep of the room, Peter took her in his arms and flew out the shattered windows that he arrived in.

"Well, that was interesting," Angela noted as she walked into the room, holding a compact as she finished cleaning the blood off her face. As she passed her son, she noted, "Quite creative of you, Gabriel, but I would ask that you fill me in next time you're pulling a stunt like that. I thought you'd gone dark again and brought your wife with you. Arthur, I think we ending our last conversation on a bad note."

"I knew you fell too easily," Arthur noted. "But Primatech won't be so lucky. Angie, you can't win. I brought my entire Martial Division."

"All of them? Does that strike you as a good idea, Arthur?"

Arthur mused on this for a second. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?" Pall asked.

"You think you're always two steps ahead, don't you, Angie, with that passive ability of yours?" Arthur taunted.

"You've never given me enough credit, Sweetheart. I'm _three_, if you count my inside man."

"Inside man?" Arthur bellowed, laughing, "If someone was sent by my wife to betray me, I have a hundred different abilities to punish you with. So if there is a traitor among you, would he please speak up?" He basked in the silence of the room. "See, Angela, not a word."

"You don't know how right you are, Arthur," Angela replied.

Two hands grasped Arthur's head from behind. He only smiled and attempted to activate one of his powers. They did not come. He then noticed the dark skin of the large hands around his head. "No," he breathed meekly before convulsing in the Haitian's hands.

When the Haitian finally released Arthur, he fell to the ground, his eyes vacant, his mouth drooling, and his muscle twitching randomly.

"Thank you," Angela said.

"Ma'am," the Haitian replied.

"Whoa," Flint exclaimed, "You mean he could talk all along?"

Angela spoke up, "Agents of Pinehearst, you may have noticed you have become somewhat… understaffed. If you would like to return to your headquarters, I assure you that I will have my people stand down. We will not retaliate against this imprudent attack on our premises and personnel."

After a few meaningful glances, Edward, Piper, Flint, and Echo all slowly backed up and fled out of the hole that Peter had created during his entrance.

: : :

Deveaux Building Rooftop  
Manhattan, New York  
January 8, 1975

In a fine-pressed charcoal suit, Charles Deveaux surveyed the city from his newest acquisition: the newly-christened Deveaux Building.

"You've done well for yourself," Arthur Petrelli noted as he walked toward Charles. His wife, Angela, stood faithfully by his side.

"Thank you. It wasn't easy. How is Nathan?"

"He's well," Angela replied, "He's with the sitter, watching _Peter Pan_ for the hundredth time."

"You're only young once," Charles noted.

Bob Bishop arrived and Charles greeted him. "And, what a lovely wedding you had. The missus is much too pretty for you."

"And much too young," Bob added, "And too blond."

Paula and Carlos then arrived with two women and a man, all unfamiliar, in tow.

"Paula," Arthur noted, "who have you found?"

"If we're going to study people like us, we need someone in the medical field. I found three."

"Well, don't keep us waiting. Introduce our new friends," Charles requested.

Paula herded the man forward first. "Harry?"

"My name is Harry Fletcher. I'm a pharmaceutical researcher with Franklin & Wilkins."

"I have heard of this," Kaito noted, "It gets funding from the Excelsior Group out of San Francisco. My company recently purchased a controlling interest."

"Well, I thank you for your generous support," Harry noted, "my latest project has been trying to activate dormant strains of DNA in… well, so far just bacteria, but once I get it right, the results should work on…"

"Humans," Arthur finished.

"Quite possibly. Why the interest?"

"Call it a personal curiosity," Arthur replied cryptically.

Paula moved on, "This is Victoria Pratt. Victoria's a microbiologist of some repute."

"She'll be working on the Indian girl's blood?"

"Yes," Carlos replied.

"Finally, we have Susan Amman. Susan is an obstetrician. I think she would be a valuable addition to our group. She has studied the inheritance of abilities and we have asked her to continue her work."

Carlos spoke, "I'd like to introduce you to our group. Arthur Petrelli represents our legal interests. His wife, Angela, is well-connected politically and socially within the city. Charles Deveaux is a prominent real estate mogul in these parts, and he's responsible for all our properties. That handsome fellow over there is Bob Bishop; he's responsible for all our finances. Kaito Nakamura represents our overseas business interests. Paula, of course, is our recruitment expert. And I am our historian."

There was a knock at the door and Maury Parkman timidly walked in. "Sorry I'm late. I hope I…"

Arthur was quick to drag Maury into the group, "Everyone, I'd like you finally meet Maury Parkman. Maury is the telepath I've been telling you about."

Carlos warmly greeted him.

Paula noted, "Where's Daniel?"

"Right here," Linderman noted, wearing his Army Service Uniform. "My sincerest apologies for my tardiness, but I have someone I'd like you all to meet."

A blond man who appeared to be in his early thirties followed him in.

"I'd like to introduce you to Adam Monroe."

"And what is Mr. Monroe's special talent?" Arthur asked.

"It's so monumental; I find it hard to put into words."

"I heal," Adam explained bluntly, "Gunshots. Burns. Stabbings. They all heal within instants. It's a talent I've cultivated for the past four hundred years."

After a stunned silence, Carlos joked, "Daniel, the last thing we need is another Brit."

Adam surveyed the group with little regard, but did note, "So, you're founding some sort of enterprise? For… highly-talented people shall we say?"

"Yes," Arthur answered, "Mr. Monroe, if you don't mind by me asking. You're immortal. A god among men."

"That's kind of you to say, but I'm at most a demigod."

"Why ally yourself with us?"

"I have taken down giants. Faced armies. Watched kingdoms rise and fall, and torn down a few myself. When the Earth crashes into the sun, I will probably be there. But I can't stop it. I can't stop a lot of things. I am but one man. You all, _you_ can change the world. And if I am a part of it, you will succeed."

: : :

Edward, Piper, Flint, and Echo  
Pinehearst Company  
Fort Lee, New Jersey  
September 10, 2011

Before their eyes, the Pinehearst Company erupted in flames, engulfing the entire building in seconds.

"Dammit," Edward commented, "how did it go up so fast?"

Flint grimaced, "I know how this happened."

: : :

A/N: I've been kind of avoiding the subject, but I might as well let you know I'm winding down the series. I had hoped to end the same time as Season 3, that's obviously not going to happen. I planned to do at most 22 chapters, like a full season of a TV series. That's two more chapters, which is all I've planned: this chapter's fallout and the finale. Granted, these are chapters that I've been pondering for four or five months.

In some ways I'm afraid that I've leaving so much unexplored. Characters like Bess, Edward Pall, and Dalton Henry I created out of the whole cloth and we still know so little about them. I've adopted characters like Piper, Ryan, and Sparrow who I've given life. I've resurrected characters like Audrey, Zach, and Monica who I wish I had given more time to flesh out. And I've delved into the lives of the founders, but it's still painfully inadequate to replace the never-to-be _Heroes: Origins_.

But I know I'm running on fumes. Once I finished the final two chapters, I'm taking a break to explore other fandoms and betaing. Hopefully that will recharge my inspiration for _Heroes_.

Started 2/13/2009. Finished 4/27/2008.


	21. The Truth of the Moment

The World Entire, Chapter 21  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Pinehearst falls. Mohinder synthesizes an antidote.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." I'll pick and choose ideas from Volumes 3 and 4 as they occur, but won't include information from future episodes.

A/N: Sorry for the delays. I had scheduled this to go out a few days ago, but I kept running into portions that really needed to be fleshed out. Regardless, since you're reading this, I finished.

: : :

Chapter 21: The Truth of the Moment

_One of the many tenants of the Jain religion is the understanding that all behaviors, physical and mental, have consequences in this life and beyond. Jainism emphasizes non-violence, honesty, celibacy, and non-possession for these reasons. This harkens to the butterfly effect, where every action causes ripples that will forever affect the universe. Yet regardless of our perceptions of these phenomena, the truth is that tragedies befall us on a daily basis. The seeds we sow may cause the downfalls of empires. But we cannot let the wind toss us about. We have to rise up, raise our swords, and face down the storms. That is where we will find the heart of a true hero. _

: : :

Piper, Edward, Echo, and Flint  
Pinehearst Company  
Fort Lee, New Jersey  
September 10, 2011

As the Pinehearts Company headquarters quickly burned irrevocably, Flint stated, "I know how this happened."

Piper squeaked, "How?"

"A pyro did this," he answered stoically.

Edward stared suspiciously at Flint, who answered to the unasked question, "It weren't me. I burn a lot hotter and the outside woulda been scorched first. I think I know who did it, though."

"Hi, Flint," Meredith noted, revealing herself. She was leaning against a tree in the outer gardens behind the Pinehearst agents.

Edward commented, "How'd you disable the fire prevention system? You'd have to get inside."

"We had help," she replied plainly.

With that, Audrey Hanson emerged, pushing a wheelchair carrying Barbara Zimmerman. Both of Barbara's hands and legs were in braces. Her skin, including her face, was marked with innumerable white lines, subtle scars from Synthetic regenerator's blood-healed glass cuts. A bandage covered her left eye.

Echo, taking a step forward, asked with true sympathy, "How did you survive? You were put through a window and fell seven stories."

"The window saved my life," replied Barbara, hoarsely, "It kept me from flying too far out. I was able to catch the sixth story ledge with my left hand," she held up the bound hand, and then continued, "and then the fourth story ledge with my right." She held up her other hand, also bound with a brace. "My legs broke the fall. Since the only part of me that still worked were my thumbs, I was able to call Primatech on my cell; they saved my life. I thought payback was in order and since Arthur foolishly took the whole gang to Hartsdale…"

Piper lashed out, "Pinehearst wasn't just an army; it was an office with pencil pushers; a school with children; a nursery with babies; a hospital with sick people!"

"All evacuated." Audrey explained, a twinge of a smirk appearing as she added, "We pulled the fire alarm."

Echo walked away from his colleagues and approached Meredith.

"What are you doing?" Edward threatened from behind.

"Arthur's gone. Claire deserted us," Echo noted to Edward before turning back to Meredith. He pleaded to her, "My wife, Gina; she's pregnant. I swear, we will disappear and you will never hear from us again…"

Meredith held her hand up, "I'm a mother, too. We're not putting you back into Level 5, Mr. DeMille. We'll relocate you somewhere safe. Just don't cause any trouble."

Nodding his head, Echo threw his Pinehearst pin the ground. Barbara, with some effort, dug her own pin out of her pocket and threw it to the ground with his. Meredith and Audrey led them away.

And with that, the three remaining Pinehearst agents surveyed their situation.

: : :

Claire Bennet and Peter Petrelli  
Starry Sky Motel  
Stony Point, New York  
September 10, 2011

The water in the shower was turned up to the hottest setting. Steaming hot water attacked the mahogany-colored locks of hair, causing black rivulets to flow down her body. By the time she stepped out of the shower, her damp hair was the color of wheat and her skin the color of carnations. The pinkness faded as her skin healed itself. She wrapped a towel around her body and towel-dried her hair.

Peter was waiting when she got out of the bathroom, sitting on the bed. His normally slicked-back hair had begun to stray. He smiled and commented, "There's the Claire I know and love."

Claire smiled shyly and walked over to the bed, surveying her blood-stained black leather outfit with distaste.

"I figured as much," he commented, holding up a shopping bag. "I got you something."

Claire took the bag and pulled out a pair of a red-and-white ladies' polo. "Red?"

Peter just nodded. Claire took the bag and stepped back into the bathroom to change.

When she came back out again, she commented, "Thanks. Much less… skanky."

Silence filled the room. "I shot you," she let out.

Peter shrugged and replied, "It's okay. I forgive you."

Off Peter's non-reaction, she continued, "I _shot_ you. With a gun. I made you dead… ish." She sighed, "I mean, who forgives someone for that?"

Peter smiled, "Your Uncle Gabe and Aunt Ellie got over that hump."

"That comparison is creepy on multiple levels."

Peter lowered his head self-deprecatingly, rubbing his scarred face. "It's been a while since I forgave anyone. I've been in a pretty dark place recently."

"Two years," Claire said with a hint of anger.

"And how long have you been shooting people for Pinehearst?" Peter snapped back.

"I deserved that." She grabbed the neck of her shirt and pressed her fist against the phantom ache in her chest.

"We both did. Look, Claire, you tried to save the world your way; I tried to do it mine. We were both wrong. I've… Matt Parker and Suresh and I; we've found a different way. No one should get hurt. If you want…"

Claire's answer was to pick the Pinehearst pin off her leather vest, wipe the dried blood off, and toss it into the trash can. "Count me in."

"Let's get some sleep."

: : :

Acapulco, Mexico  
September 11, 2011

Luke Campbell pressed "Ignore" on his Palm Centro when "Mom" appeared on the screen. He was busy being held a hundred feet in the air by a flier over the Pacific Ocean just off the coast of Acapulco, Mexico.

"Ready?" Luke's partner screamed.

"Yeah," Luke screamed back, holding out his arms. Powerful microwaves assaulted the sea, flash-boiling the waters until the rocky ridge surrounding the fault-line crack in the Earth's crust could be seen. Luke's companion used his cell phone to alert others.

A few miles away, Echo DeMille, carried by another flier, let out a series of powerful screams, pushing away the waters near the red-hot canyon. His flier relayed a message that the others were successful in pushing back the water enough to locate the ridges.

Another set of flier-carried Specials arrived. They were earth-movers: terrakinetics and earthquake generators, who used their abilities to drag up large walls of rock from the bottom of the ocean, creating craggy walls to hold back the pounding oceans, preventing the water from sinking into the dangerous breaks in the Earth's surface. Some of the terrakinetics continued their work, creating large land bridges across the ever-widen chasms, hoping to buckle the pieces together. But it wasn't more than a few minutes before these land bridges began to crumble underneath the extreme heat and pressure below.

Fliers called on their radios for phase three. Speedsters raced near the edges of the walls across the water, spraying tall streams onto and over the levees, creating clouds of steam and cooling the bridges, tempering them.

Another wave arrived. Scott Baldwin was dropped by his flier, West. As Scott's body hit the water, he pounded the sea with his fists, causing a massive splash to erupt into the air. Above, an older woman named Millie, seated in a lawn chair carried by two fliers sipped on a self-chilled martini. As the upsurge of water reached her altitude, she calmly reached out her hand and froze the entire mass into a giant ice cube. Across the chasm was comic book chain owner Sam, carried by best friend and flier Frack; Sam telekinetically floated the mini-glacier above one of the land bridges, tore it in half and dropped it into the pit. After the inevitable steam billow, the land bridge was covered in a thick layer of black, igneous rock.

Deep below the surface, Alex Woolsly tossed large sandbags into holes he discovered in the levee walls. The bag quickly broke apart against the heat of the rock and sand pour into the cracks, creating casts. He swam many laps, repairing the innumerable holes in the wall.

: : :

Mohinder Suresh  
September 9, 2011

"Who's there?" Mohinder cried at the sudden sound of the door opening.

The Haitian entered the room with a manila envelope in hand.

"Haitian," Mohinder greeted. He took a step back, looking for something to charge the man with.

The Haitian just smiled and visibly removed his pin, slipping it in his pocket. He held out the envelope. Mohinder warily extended his hand to take it. As he approached the man, his scales retracted into his golden skin, and his eyes returned to their normal brown color.

Mohinder looked into the envelope, his eyes widening. He tried to ask a question but the Haitian was already turning to leave, putting his pin back on.

"But, where are you going?"

"To do my job," he replied laconically.

: : :

Nathan Petrelli  
The Pentagon  
Arlington, Virginia  
September 10, 2001

Nathan, surrounded by his bodyguards, strode into the office of the newly appointed General Jacob Pradasa. Pradasa was a slight, balding man, but with a menacing glare and air of jumpiness to him.

"Mr. President," he noted, without an ounce of regard, "how might I be of service?"

"I'm just here to let you know there's been a change in liaison. You'll no longer be reporting to my father."

"I understand," Prasada replied, with a tone indicating he did not, "any reason for the change?"

"A horrible tragedy has befallen him, I'm sorry to say."

"My condolences," Pradasa jumped in, flatly. "Who am I reporting to now?"

"Me," Nathan noted.

Nathan's chief of staff, Marty Ceppo, handed the general a card. "That is a direct line to Marty here, who is with me 24/7."

"I'm honored," Pradasa replied, barely concealing his disdain.

"My first order of business is Titanhold. I have spoken with the U.N. and we'll be extraditing any foreign prisoners back to their countries of origin effective immediately. Those who are American will be tried in military court for their crimes with the legal representation of their choice. I'm sure you'll be able to arrange the proceedings by 0800 hours tomorrow?"

"With all due respect, Mr. President," Prasada noted with no respect in his voice, "these Specials are a danger to the world. I do not believe it would be wise to let any of them out of their cells. Those whose abilities were neutralized by Arthur Petrelli I will gladly release, but I'm afraid my conscience will not allow me to follow these orders."

"You seem to forget that I'm the Commander-in-Chief."

"You seem to forget that the world a lot less dangerous that your cozy Oval Office."

Without warning his bodyguards, Nathan leapt into the air, flew over Pradasa and landed behind him, quickly slamming him onto his desk. "Grunts. Never could fight in any direction other than forward."

To Pradasa, he noted, "I was in Rwanda during the civil war. Now that may compare to the Yugoslav Wars, but know that the freedom my father allowed to you is gone. This branch was created to protect people, not enslave them, so get your act together, or I'll give Kendrick your job."

"I think you've made yourself abundantly clear," Prasada seethed as he lay pinned to his desk, "Will there be anything else, sir?"

"No, that will be all." Nathan released him, "Glad we could talk this through," Nathan noted as his agents furiously tried to get him out of danger.

: : :

Angela and Elle  
Primatech Research Facility  
Barstow, California  
September 10, 2011

Elle found herself seated across the table from Angela and a black-haired female agent.

"Elle," Angela commented mock-sweetly, "now that Gabriel is a telepath, I think it's about time that you learned how to resist mental assaults. Telepaths can be very dangerous." The agent beside her didn't flinch. It was Elle who looked uncomfortable for her. Angela added, without looking at the agent beside her, "No offense."

Equally unmoved, Agent Litao replied, "None taken, ma'am."

"Look, Angela," Elle commented, "Gabriel may be his son, but he's not Arthur."

"Elle, let's be honest here, Gabriel is capable of much worse than my husband."

"Hey! We're talking about your son!"

"Elle, we are the ones who keep him sane. Just because I love my son doesn't mean I turn a blind eye to his transgressions." Angela spoke to her associate, "Now, Autumn, I want you to please write down my daughter-in-law's ten deepest, darkest secrets."

Litao began to scribble immediately, while Elle's brow furrowed intensely in panic. Litao was already on the fourth item, which is something even Bob Bishop didn't know about.

Angela walked out of the room, where she found her son watching through the one-way window.

"Ma, I know I've done bad things, but I'd never do that to Elle. I love her."

"Your father has always loved me, and I him. It did not stop him from doing unspeakable acts to me. See for yourself." Angela extended her hand.

"Ma…"

"Gabriel…"

Gabriel laid his hand on his mother's. A thousand horrible memories assaulted his mind. Breathing heavily to purge the images, he stated, "I would never do anything like that to Elle."

"Power corrupts, my son. All I'm saying is, 'be careful.'"

As Angela walked away, Gabriel stated conjecturally, "You're powerful."

"Hmm?"

"You're powerful, Ma. You run this Company with an iron fist." His tone was not accusatory, just pensive.

"It's true. And when I stand before my Maker on Judgment Day, I'll have a lot to atone for."

: : :

The Bennets  
Odessa, Texas  
1994

Noah opened the door and let his wife walk in, holding the small toddler in her arms. He called back to his daughter, "Claire, come on!"

"I forgot my Barbie!" the little voice called back. The small blond girl, her hair in pigtails, finally raced in, holding a Barbie doll in a pink cheerleader outfit with the head and left arm twisted backwards. She raced over to her mother and new brother.

"Can he talk yet?"

"A little. Can you say, 'Mommy'?" The young boy burrowed deeper into Sandra's arms. "He's shy, Claire," she explained, "this is new and maybe a little scary for him. Do you understand?"

"Uh-huh," Claire replied, before racing back behind her mother's chair, and telling the head of blond hair, "My name is Claire Elizabeth Bennet. Can you say that?"

"Caire," came a muffled voice from Sandra's shoulder.

Claire raced over to her father. "Daddy, I made him say my name."

"That's great, Claire," Noah replied, unable to keep a grin off his face.

Claire raced back to her mother. "Can I play with him yet?"

"It may be a few days before he's ready to play," Sandra explained. "But when he is, you'll have to be careful. He's littler than you and can get hurt really easily. He's not indestructible like you."

Claire had three visible Band-Aids on her. Strawberry Shortcake decorated her right knee; a Care Bear surrounded her right index finger; and Big Bird covered her right elbow.

"Claire, it's almost time for _Alf_," Noah noted.

Claire, nearly panicked, raced out of the dining room into the living room.

Sandra took this opportunity to caress her son's back; Lyle unclenched his hands enough to let his mother sit him in her lap. She kissed him on the forehead. She said to her husband, "At least you didn't find this one in a storm drain."

"It wasn't a storm drain…" Noah answered in a droll tone.

Sandra got up from her chair and gave her husband a long, soft kiss. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For making me a Mommy. It's what I've always wanted."

"I know. I'm sorry I was so reluctant at first. But once I got that little push, there was no saying 'no' I suppose. Plus, you weren't satisfied with my offer of a dog."

"Speaking of dogs…"

"Sandra…" Noah warned.

"Shush you. One of the ladies in my book club, Judith; she has a breeding Pom. You know, maybe, one day, when the kids are in school, I'd like to get into it with her."

"Oh," Noah replied, "actually, I think you might enjoy that."

The kitchen phone emitted a shrill ring. Noah immediately picked it up, "This is the Bennets, Noah speaking… Mr. Thompson, yes, what can I do for you? Now? Alright, I'll be right in."

"Noah," Sandra seethed, "we've not been home twenty minutes with Lyle, and you're already escaping to work. What kind of emergency could a darn paper company have?"

"Sandra, I'm sorry. Unfortunately, Primatech is not enlightened enough to understand the concept of 'paternity leave.' I bargained and bartered with all my colleagues to get these three days off. The caveat was that I'd have to be on-call. I'll be gone at most a few hours. And, Sweetie?"

"Yes, Noah?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too, Honey."

: : :

Mohinder and Daphne  
Lower Manhattan, New York  
September 10, 2011

Daphne stood beside Mohinder, tapping her foot rapidly, tuning the buzzing to middle-E.

"Daphne," Mohinder prompted. Daphne zipped to other side of him. "Could you fetch me some more hydrogen peroxide and promicitamine-3?"

"Spell it." She stated, after racing to the local drugstore and back for a pen and paper in less than a second. As Mohinder began to write, she nagged, "While I'm still young."

Mohinder had barely torn off the paper than Daphne was off. Seconds later, she returned with a gallon-jug and a metal thermos.

"Thank you," Mohinder noted calmly. "I'm going to need ten more gallons of deionized water."

"That's gonna take like five trips."

"I'm sure you'll survive."

"Oh, I fetched them while you were saying whatever it was you were saying." She tilted her head toward the table across the room, where the ten water jugs sat neatly in a row.

"Well, then, we're almost ready to proceed. Find your husband and Micah and let them know I'll be ready to start filling the dragonflies by midnight tonight."

"Are you sure that's going to be enough?" Daphne studied the large pot of clear liquid on the ground.

"That is the original Formula, which I needed to make the Antidote. The Antidote can be synthesized in super-concentrated doses, which we'll be diluting with the deionized water over there. It's nothing more than a hormone that attaches to serotonin. Within minutes of inhalation, the body will start to produce it naturally, and it will spread like a virus."

Daphne studied a small flask. "Wow, what makes it so blue?"

"Iodine; it's left over from the dyeing phase. It's naturally colorless."

"Oh," Daphne replied, disappointed, "makes sense. You know, we started coloring the Evolution shots. The average Joe Schmoe figured we were trying to sell them water."

: : :

Peter and Claire  
New York City, New York  
September 11, 2011

"That's brilliant," Claire praised Peter's idea. "Slowly de-power the Synthetics via mass diffusion. Stop the damage to the Earth before it goes too far."

"Thanks, but without Mohinder and Micah, and frankly any of the team, this plan wouldn't have gotten off the ground."

"How can I help?"

"Not sure yet, but we'll figure out something. Your connections or intel from Pinehearst maybe. I don't know."

"Whatever you need."

Her offer was punctuated by a loud splat as a body hit the ground. Momentarily stunned, both Peter and Claire raced to the body: it was a female woman of Asian descent in a business skirt suit.

"I don't have a syringe."

"It's okay," Peter replied, pushing her back. He laid his hands on the woman and started to heal her.

A few feet away, there was another ominous splat, and then several more.

Eyeing the group of five bodies, Claire exclaimed, "Teleport and get me a syringe. Fast!"

Peter left the woman and teleported away. He returned with a syringe and Claire quickly began to draw her own blood.

Peter looked up into the sky. "It's one of Micah's robots."

"I don't see it. How did you…"

"Enhanced hearing from Gabriel. And sight from one of my… former associates."

"The terrorists," Claire questioned cuttingly.

"Yeah."

Claire studied the group, "These guys were probably fliers. Are you sure that your Antidote doesn't _immediately_ remove abilities?"

"As far as I know, we haven't tested it," Peter muttered, staring at the bodies.

Claire put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Hey, you didn't know. Don't worry, we'll save them." She injected an older Japanese man. After several moments, his body still had not begun to heal. Panicking, she asked, "Peter, shouldn't this only remove _Synthetic_ abilities?" She stared at her scratched-up hands.

"I'll fix this," Peter whispered as he laid a kiss on the back of Claire's head and teleported away.

"Peter!" Claire screamed.

: : :

A/N: You know; I'm too easy on my characters. No one dies. I retconned Sparrow's death. Barbara was originally on the chopping block but I needed her to take down Pinehearst. Both are worse for wear, though. Hiro was canonically killed, and as much as I wanted to bring him back, I couldn't find a logical way to do so. I take full responsibility for Ando's death; the plot demanded it, and even though I didn't like it, I went through with it. Arthur arguably got a fate worse than death, but over the course of the story, he became a major villain, and I feel no remorse for him. Now, I obviously have killed thousands of nameless people off-screen, but _Heroes_ writers killed over 6 billion people in an alternate future, so I don't feel _that_ bad.

And I finally gave Nathan some action. I was watching the season finale and it made me realize that I'd turned Nathan into an Inaction President. I thought he deserved a good fight.

Also, I realized I hadn't used Sandra Bennet at all, and she's much too wonderful of a character to forget.

I was asked by my wonderful reviewers whether I was going to include Volume 4 characters. I originally had not planned for this, especially since they belong to a very different universe, but I had some bit parts that could easily be filled with some familiar characters.

I was having trouble assembling content for this chapter when I realized I could just steal all the ideas from the next chapter and leave this one on a cliffhanger. Go self-plagiarism!

Started 2/29/2009. Finished 5/7/2009.


	22. The Moments to Come

The World Entire, Chapter 22  
by Creedog VanDrey

Category: _Heroes  
_Genre: Mystery  
Rating: T  
Language: English  
Summery: Peter hopes to undo the damage caused by the Antidote.  
Spoilers: Up to 3x05, especially the "I Am Become Death" future, and my fic "My Firefly." I'll pick and choose ideas from Volumes 3 and 4 as they occur, but won't include information from future episodes.

A/N: Whoa. This is the finale. Which means that I finished what is my largest fic series ever (81861 words).

So, anyway, I have this really strange desire to recap the entire series. If you've been paying attention, I would advise you to skip this and just start reading the finale, but for those of you who would like to know what has happened in the past 95% of the series, here's your monologue:

The year is 2011; almost half the world's population has taken "Evolution shots", which bestows on normal humans extrahuman abilities; these Specials humans are called Synthetics. Their abilities are a double-edged sword: some use their abilities to help mankind; others to cause it harm, sometimes deliberately, sometimes by accident. Shortly after the Costa Verde Disaster, Company agents Meredith Gordon and Victor Abano discover a survivor of the blast: Noah Gray, the young son of Gabriel Gray, the reformed serial killer Sylar, and his wife, Elle Bishop, a reinstated Company agent who is slightly off-balance. Noah is the product of their strange but touching romance, which is still burning bright today. It is soon revealed that Noah is the product of Company Director Angela Petrelli's planning, inspired by a prophetic dream of a powerful grandson. She was correct; Noah has the ability of adaptive resurrection, allowing him to rise from the dead with protection from whatever last killed him. His home destroyed, Gabriel rejoins the Company, becoming partnered with Ryan Covington, the Company's newest recruit, a normal human. Elle's partner is the no-nonsense Russian-born Bess Detskij.

The Company is in competition with the Pinehearst Company, the provider of the now-scarce Evolution shots. The head of the Pinehearst Company is Arthur Petrelli, Angela's wife and the father of Gabriel, Nathan, and Peter. Peter, a wanted terrorist, is responsible for the bombing of Pinehearst's main distribution center, and Arthur has sent his best team to capture him, led by none other than Claire Bennet, Arthur's granddaughter and Peter's niece. Though successfully in killing him, their pursuit of Peter's past self caused the Costa Verde Disaster, as well as the death of Benjamin "Knox" Washington and the near-death of Daphne Parkman, who saved by her husband Matt with a packet of Claire's regenerative blood; however, this leaves her in a coma. Claire soon recruits a new team, including Matt, who swiftly betrays her to get to the current Peter's body, which revives in Claire's presence. Using his telepathic powers, he escapes, but without his adopted daughter Molly, who has fled on her own. After discovering the truth behind the Costa Verde Disaster, Matt accepts Peter's offer to join forces with him to discover a way to stop an imminent disaster: the possibility that the Earth may soon crack into pieces. This cataclysm of apocalyptic proportions is given validity by the U.S. Geological Society's to President Nathan Petrelli. Nathan was elected to serve the nation in the face of the exposure of Special humans. He married to former lobbyist and political aide Tracy Strauss and the two of them have a son named Andrew with aquatic abilities.

Peter and Matt, hoping to remove the abilities out of the Synthetics and prevent the Broken Earth Cataclysm, recruit the reclusive Mohinder Suresh, scarred from taking a homemade but imperfect version of the Formula compound found in Evolution shots. They find him already in the company of Molly. Together, they formulate a plan to make an Antidote. Peter enlists the help of the similarly reclusive Hiro Nakamura, another declared terrorist, who lives on a remote Japanese island and uses his time-traveling ability to try to avert the Cataclysm, though without success. Hiro gives Peter his half of the Formula diagram, which he previously stole from Pinehearst. The other half is tucked safely away in the Yamagato vault. Hiro promises to retrieve it so that Mohinder can use it to create the Antidote. Unbeknownst to him, Pinehearst has sent Ando Masahashi, Hiro's former best friend, to retrieve the Formula from Yamagato. Hiro's sister Kimiko and Ando have a brief romantic encounter, partially aided by Kimiko's Synthetic pheromone ability. In a late-night standoff, Hiro acquires the other half of the Formula, but it falls into Ando's possession when Ando inadvertently injures Hiro, who dies when a Synthetic-caused earthquake results in the collapse of Yamagato Square. Ando gives Arthur the half of the Formula, but refuses to seek the other half after the death of his friend. Arthur enacts his notorious severance package.

Matt, meanwhile, attempts to retrieve his wife and infant daughter from Pinehearst's clutches, only to find both missing, and Pinehearst claiming ignorance. He escapes unscathed due to a bit of quick thinking, and Arthur sends out Claire to track down Matt, and through him, Peter. She makes her way to Matt's ex-wife Janice, but arrives at a dead end. Arthur also sends out Barbara Zimmerman, Tracy's twin sister, to finish Ando's assignment. She gets her first lead by force from Usutu, a government employee who uses his precognitive ability to foresee potential problems. Usutu's paintings lead her to Mohinder's lab, where she efficiently disables both Peter and Mohinder, but a brief interruption by Micah Sanders allows Peter to overpower her. After a brief misunderstanding, Micah, too, joins the rogue group, offering his technopathic abilities.

In New Orleans, Company agents and partners Monica Dawson and Lyle Bennet track down delinquent Specials. One such assignment gets Lyle thrown in the hospital, but a visit from his sister and her healing blood puts him back into commission. Back at the Company, Angela hires ex-FBI agent Audrey Hanson, who she pairs with green agent Sparrow Redhouse. Sparrow is injured during their first mission, but survives thanks to Audrey's quick thinking.

Back in D.C., Nathan is introduced to the first squadron of the Powered Legion, a new branch of the military exclusively employing Specials, and sends them on their first mission to San Diego. What has happened there is that an entire prison has been injected with Evolution shots. The Company sends its best agents, including the newly partnered Meredith and Audrey, to clean up the mess. They arrive at the jail to find that Pinehearst has sent its elite team, too. The teams reluctantly join up to combat the common opponent. However, even the combined teams are no match for the large, violent prison population. The day is saved by the Powered Legion's new squadron. Their victory is short-lived, however, when Matt kidnaps Gabriel, hoping to punish him for his wife's fatal injuries by trapping him in his own mind. The trap backfires, and Sylar resurfaces, and he makes Matt witness his murderous streak. Matt only breaks out when witnessing Sylar's attempts to kill Molly, but he is too late to stop Sylar from brutally massacring the entire prison yard and Legion squadron. One Legionnaire, Dalton Henry, escapes and reports to Nathan.

Hoping to add to his collection of abilities, Sylar makes his way back to Primatech. He is confronted by his wife, who shrewdly leads him to their son, Noah; upon attempting to take his son's immortality, the cries of the young boy cause an emotional breakdown, allowing the murderous Sylar to become loving father Gabriel once again. Gabriel discovers that the time inside Matt's mind has given him telepathy, which he discovers when he inadvertently takes his wife's electrical abilities.

Nathan is disturbed by his father's actions, wrenching control of the Powered Legion from his hands, using the rest of Pinehearst's Evolution shot reserves to create a large army. He sequesters Titanhold, a prison designed to house Specials, which Nathan believes he is only using to gain new abilities. Though praised as heroes, the Legion under Arthur's control causes more harm than good.

As all the pieces of Peter and Matt's plan come together, Micah suggests using his self-replicating robots to distribute the Antidote around the world. Daphne reappears at Mohinder's lab with daughter Daniella, solving the mystery of her disappearance: she healed on her own and simply escaped using her ability. Peter returns Barbara to Pinehearst, sans her vertigo ability, and she is swiftly fired and defenestrated by Arthur. He leads all his agents to the Hartsdale Primatech facility, where they find a fully battle-ready force of Company agents awaiting them, forewarned by Angela's precognition. Though the battle results in no deaths, Arthur is mind-wiped by the Haitian, Angela's loyal sleeper agent, and Claire's analgesia is "cured" by Gabriel. Feeling pain for the first time in years, Claire is repentant of her mistakes and escapes with Peter, who she reaffirms her relationship with. Now greatly outnumbered and without a leader, the Pinehearst agents flee, only to find that Barbara, saved by good fortune and Primatech, has betrayed them and destroyed the headquarters. Echo deserts his fellow agents, leaving only Edward, Piper, and Flint to plan their next move.

Nathan, with Arthur in a vegetative state, takes back the Legion from Arthur's loyal stooge, General Jacob Pradasa. But by the next day, a tragedy has befallen the world. Mohinder's Antidote, expected to slowly negate the powers of Synthetics, has instead briskly removed the abilities of _all_ Specials, resulting in many deaths and the sudden inability of Specials to counteract the effects of the cracking Earth. Peter and Claire realize the implications of the Antidote, and Peter teleports away, proclaiming that he is going to "fix" the problem… if it's not too late.

: : :

Chapter 22: The Moments to Come

_According to the Mayan calendar, the thirteen _bak'tun_ cycle will end somewhere between December 21 and 23 of the year 2012 C.E. Many religions and pseudo-religions have taken this date to be the moment of the end of the world. However, it should be noted that even the ancient Mesoamerican cultures did not consider this date to be the point of any apocalypse, merely a resetting of the cycle, and possibly a great cultural shift. They believe that life would go on. This harkens to the fact that even the Judeo-Christian End of Days is a misnomer. They believe that the Earth will survive another thousand years in Paradise. Every change in our life, every graduation, every job change, every marriage, every birth, it all signals not an end to things, but a continuation of them; a landmark on a journey with no final destination. What are we trying to escape from? And when will we learn to appreciate the moments to come?_

: : :

"This is a GNN Special Report with Ngozi Badu and Alistair Coles."

Badu began the report, "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Earlier today, in what some are calling an epidemic, the world's entire Special population suddenly and inexplicably lost their extrahuman abilities. While reports are still coming in, this is almost certainly not a natural occurrence."

Coles continued, "The sudden plague of ability lost began in New York City sometime before dawn today and quickly spread in all directions. The Chinese government claimed that another outbreak, apparently independent of the first, began in Hong Kong only a few hours later, at 17:30 local time. Other major cities, including Tokyo, Japan; Lisboa, Portugal; Cape Town, South Africa; St. Petersburg, Russia; Caracas, Venezuela; Los Angeles, California; and Mumbai, India have all made similar claims, leading some to conclude that this was a deliberate action on a global scale."

A map showing the coastal cities appeared beside Coles.

Badu continued, "There were thousands of reports of sparrow-sized mechanical insects at the sites, and it is believed that they are somehow responsible for the epidemic. No government or group is taking credit for the robots."

His tone sympathetic, Coles added, "While the casualties are still being counted, this outbreak has caused deaths numbering in at least the tens of thousands, mostly from fliers and runners, the two largest Special populations. Estimates of injuries have been quoted in the millions."

Badu reported, "There was a particular outpouring of grief for the hundreds of Specials who lost their lives after using their abilities to try to repair the Earth's crust. We would like to now show a video that was made by American film students Zachary Kline and Archie Kang in San Francisco, California, which shows a group of Specials who, for the past two days, have attempted to repair the San Andreas Fault in California."

The film was cued up to the last word Zach said before a flying man plummeted to the ground in the background. _"Archie, get this," _Zach proclaimed on screen._ "I don't know what's happening here but it appears as if all the Special fliers are suddenly losing control of their abilities."_ There was a distant buzzing and Zach pointed toward the noise. The camera jerked up just in time to see a speck in the distance. It zoomed toward the object, a steel-gray insect that could barely be made out. It flew inconsistently, jerking and gliding in an unpredictable manner. After losing some altitude, it suddenly zipped away quickly, out of the frame. The camera returned to Zach, who coughed before continuing, _"I do not know what we just saw, but it appeared to be made out of metal, shaped like an insect or a small plane, about the size of a model airplane by my estimation. And cut."_ Zach made a cutting motion toward the camera and the feed ended as he raced out toward the shore.

"In related news, the U.S. Geological Society today released its findings that had, up until now, only been shown to American President Nathan Petrelli. It explains that the damage to Earth's crust is more extensive than previously thought. What we are about to show you contains frightening images…"

: : :

Mohinder Suresh  
Lower Manhattan, New York  
September 11, 2011

Mohinder examined his arm. For the first time in three years, he could see his skin. His eyes, too, had reverted back to his normal brown. The only trait remaining that recalled his previous form was his still-bald head.

Peter teleported into the lab, his demeanor harried.

Unable to contain his excitement, Mohinder cried out, "Peter! It worked! Look at me!"

"It worked too well, Mohinder." Peter turned on Mohinder's television. It opened to a GNN news report talking about the recent epidemic of ability loss.

After watching a few moments, Mohinder noted, "Oh, God, the hormone… it was very dilute; it should have taken hours if not days to build up enough concentration to counteract the effects of the compound. But how do you still have your abilities?"

Peter stood away from Mohinder, "I teleported away before I could breathe in the Antidote. I won't have them for long. Do you still have the Formula and the compound?"

Mohinder indicated the sheet of taped-together paper and the large glass jar with clear liquid. "Right here. But, I have to warn you, I discovered something else."

"What?"

"I've been doing some tests. The Antidote clears the body of the compound that induces abilities. However, now that the Antidote is our systems, I don't think we can reintroduce the modification compound without causing an adverse reaction. The two compounds neutralize one another, and because the body will continue producing both, the byproducts build up to toxic levels."

"So, we can't take the Formula compound?" Peter brushed back his hair.

"_You_ can, actually. Your body is genetically predisposed to it. It occurs naturally in your body, so a shot of it will overpower the Antidote and your abilities will return."

"Let's do it." Peter slipped off his jacket and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt.

As Mohinder carefully injected Peter with the compound, the latter questioned, "What about Nathan? He's not a Natural."

"Nathan's an exception. He _is_ genetically predisposed since the mutation runs in your family."

"Interesting." Peter looked up. "This is really bothering me." He laid a hand on Mohinder's head and hair quickly grew from the scalp.

Grinning, Mohinder said, "Oh, thank you." He felt it; it was long and flowed down to his shoulder. "A little long, though?"

"Get a haircut," Peter joked. He got up as Mohinder pulled out a bandage, only to find no wound.

"Well, it appears you've retained your regeneration."

"I've got one more errand to do."

Peter teleported out of the lab and returned a few seconds later with a silver pistol, which he shot Mohinder with. A small dart imbedded itself in his shoulder. Mohinder collapsed to the ground and Peter took the Formula and stuck it in his pocket.

: : :

Col. Donald Kendrick  
Fort Irwin Military Base  
Fort Irwin, California

In a small office, Kendrick surveyed the map of the West Coast of the United States on a bulletin board. On the adjacent wall were half a dozen blue prints for a strange structure. Kendrick's phone rang and he answered it, "Let him in." General Jacob Pradasa of the Special Legion entered with two soldiers behind him. One was Edward Pall and the other Piper Johanssen, both in red-and-khaki uniforms.

Kendrick greeted the man coolly, "General Pradasa, I'm very busy. What can I do for you?"

"I know the military is performing some group project that has to do with the Cataclysm. My men, the soldiers of the Special Legion, would like to offer their assistance."

"Their abilities are gone."

"They're still trained. They want to serve their country."

Kendrick nodded, "Very well. You'll have to hear the short version. You see this?" He pointed to the blueprints on the wall.

"What is it?" Pall asked, looking over them.

"We're calling it the Vice. The U.S. military employs… or 'employed', I should say… Specials with intelligence abilities. Because we feared the danger that earthquake generators could cause, we looked into ways to repair the damage. One of our smarties designed these. They are concrete-and-steel structures built over fault lines, bored deep into the crust. They dramatically slow the spread of the plates by counteracting the pressure beneath the earth and rerouting it sideways. Three designs: one for land, one for undersea, and one special one that attaches to levees. Think of them like little buckles."

"Which one are we using?" Pradasa asked.

"All them, and many of each. We'll start building twelve of them across the San Andreas Fault tomorrow. We've got posts set up at every major military base across the West Coast."

"Have they ever been tested?" Pradasa asked.

"No. But, if one breaks down, we'll just build two more to replace it."

"Sounds expensive," Piper commented.

"Very. But it's decreed by the President of the United States. The American taxpayers will thank us when Australia doesn't smash into the moon and cause little bits of it the size of ocean liners to turn the Midwest into Gomorrah."

: : :

Claire Bennet  
Manhattan, New York

Claire looked down at her arm, where a small trickle of blood still flowed from the arm she had stabbed, and a red stain began to grow on her polo. Huffing, she tore her left pant leg against the seam, groaning at the unfamiliar ache in her arm. Tearing off the pant leg at her thigh, she wrapped the strip of cloth around the wound. Her destination was several miles away, and she was in a hurry.

Moments later, Peter teleported behind her, grabbed her before she could sense his arrival, and transported her to Mohinder's lab. Once there, she noticed Mohinder Suresh's body sprawled on the floor, no longer covered in scales like Pinehearst's reports had reported.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I injected him with the Formula. Non-Naturals are intolerant of it, so maybe it hit him harder."

"What's going to happen to him?" she asked suspiciously.

"Don't worry. He's predisposed; his sister had abilities. He should be fine… Sorry, I'm still getting used to this 'thinking ahead' thing."

"Tell me about it."

"Ready for me to reinject you?" He pointed the gun at her. She immediately spin-kicked it out of his hand and grabbed a scrap of metal off the ground and swung it at him. A moment later, she relaxed her attack pose and noted sheepishly, "Sorry, training. Can we use a syringe instead?"

"Works for me," he replied. Peter proceeded to carefully fill a syringe with a full dosage of the compound and injected into Claire's non-damaged arm. Seeing her impromptu bandage, he asked, "That looks like one of your pant legs. What happened to the other?" He indicated her two bare legs.

"I wasn't going to walk down Church Street with only one pant leg. I've got a little more pride than that."

"I've got to get going."

"Where are you off to?"

"I'm going to reinject Naturals and Predisposeds. Too many Specials may have doomed the world, but without any, we may not be able to save it. I've got the List."

"Do you need me?"

He indicated four more syringes that he'd filled up, on the table beside where Mohinder was lying, groaning as he slowly became more awake. "I need you to give those to Matt, Daphne, Molly, and Micah when they return. I assume you know how to find a vein."

Confidently, she noted, "I've given away about nineteen gallons of my blood in the last year. I think I'll manage."

: : :

Zach and Archie  
Full Moon Bay Beach  
San Francisco, California

Zach and Archie pulled the tall, black-haired youth out of the water. He spat out water on shore and slowly regained his breath.

"Hey, buddy," Zach asked, "how are you?"

"I'll be fine," Alex replied, still coughing up water, "I had to swim about a mile to get back here."

Zach looked impressed. Archie asked, "What happened?"

Sitting up, Alex responded, "I can breathe underwater. Or I at least used to be able to. I heard people crashing onto the surface when I was under, and when I went to check… I lost my abilities. Any idea what's going on?"

Zach explained, "Someone sent out these robots bugs that take away people's powers."

Alex let out a chuckle. "I work at a comic book shop and I find that weird." He shook out his hair.

: : :

Nathan and Tracy  
The White House  
Washington, D.C.

Nathan strode down the hall with his wife by his side, their son wrapped in a towel in her arms. Nathan's Secret Service escorts: Braham, Renfrass, Henry, and Sanders, surrounded him. His chief of staff, Marty Ceppo, too, stood by, taking instruction from the President.

"Marty, get my speechwriters on my speech for tonight. We just had the Epidemic and the Cataclysm report released. We're going to have a lot of anxious citizens. I don't want it at the Freedom Towers anymore. Put it out back. And make sure they include… you know what, Marty? You went to Harvard. You know what needs to be in my speech. Go!"

Marty ran off, still making notes in a notepad.

Nathan turned to his wife, "How's Andrew?"

"Still a little shaken. He was in the pool when those darn things flew over."

"Mommy," Andrew said, poking his head out, "'Darn' bad word."

"Yes!" she replied, pushing his head back against her shoulder. She turned to her husband and noted, "Your Inauguration Present is too perceptive."

Peter teleported in, facing the entourage. Nathan's agents, practically in unison, drew their guns and aimed at Peter.

Laying a hand on Braham's shoulder, Nathan calmed, "Hold fire." He asked, "Hey, Pete, you're gonna get yourself shot doing that. How do you still have your abilities by the way?"

Without saying a word, Peter froze time. He pulled out his dart pistol and fired at Nathan. The dart sailed a few feet before getting caught in the time stasis. He examined it for a moment, and fired twice more, at Tracy and Andrew. He read through the list and moved around, looking at the agents' badges. He fired only at the female Agent Landers.

Peter returned to his spot and unfroze time. The darts sailed to their intended targets, causing Nathan and Tracy to faint. Flustered, the three other Secret Service Agents shot at Peter. The first round of bullets struck Peter, but he let the rest phase through him while his body healed.

Once their magazines were emptied, and Nathan and Tracy had regained consciousness, Peter noted, "You're welcome. Now, finally to that errand." He teleported away.

"Sir," Henry mentioned to Nathan, "you're floating."

Nathan indeed was floating several inches off the ground. He descended and exchanged glances with his wife, who laid her hand against the wall; a patch of ice appeared.

"Someone lie to me," Landers requested, yanking out the dart.

"I'm a convicted felon," Braham stated.

"I played football in high school," Henry added.

"I believe in vampires," Renfrass thought up.

"Stop!" Lander screamed, holding up her hand, "I'm getting a headache."

Nathan noted, "Miss Landers, I can understand why my brother would inject my wife and my son and I, but why you?"

"I don't know, sir," she replied, "that's the first time I met him." She didn't shutter.

"She's a Natural," Tracy pointed out; "Renfrass, Henry, and Braham were Synthetics. Peter was holding a sheet of paper. It was the List."

Nathan smiled, "Good thinking, Sweetheart."

"I was a lobbyist for seven years. It takes a bit of brains for that."

: : :

Matt, Daphne, Micah, and Molly  
Mohinder's Lab  
Lower Manhattan, New York

Matt raced in with Daphne in his arms. Micah and Molly followed him. They found Claire Bennet holding Daniella and Mohinder sitting on a stood beside her.

"Claire," Matt said, apprehensively, noting his daughter in Claire's arms. His tightened his grip on his wife, who also eyed their daughter. Micah took a step in front of Molly, as did Matt. Molly moved away from the wall of protective male so she could watch the action.

"She's with us," Mohinder stated blandly.

Everyone, except the non-anxious Molly, relaxed. Molly noticed and complimented Mohinder's new head of hair.

"Peter recruited you?" Matt questioned, still a bit wary.

"Yeah, Sylar sliced my head open and now things hurt. Including my past actions, if that's not a total cliché," she stated, sounding like the 21-year-old she was. She saw Matt's wife. "Daphne, you're awake. Your legs, is that from the explosion?"

"No, I was paraplegic before I got my powers. I healed fine because of your blood. I bet genetically we're first cousins now."

Claire smirked before asking, "Where did Arthur move you?"

"I don't know; I woke up in the Pinehearst Hospital last Saturday."

"Arthur lied," Claire reasoned, rolling her eyes at her naïveté.

"I'd love to kick his ass," Daphne seethed.

"Not a whole lotta point in it," Claire explained, "Haitian wiped him."

Matt commented, "Now that you're not with Pinehearst, I guess you should know he's Angela's double agent."

"You knew?"

"He let me read him in the hospital room. He was just trying to get close to Arthur. He let me escape."

"He could have at least let you use the door."

"I did use the door. You really think I'd jump out a window with a bag of regenerator blood? No, I put the whole show in your brains from outside Arthur's office."

"My former employer was a den of liars!" Claire exclaimed. She mentioned to Matt, with a tone of malice, "By the way, I hear you're the one who brought Sylar back."

"Sorry, but in my defense, he did blow up Costa Verde."

"Well, thanks to you, he slaughtered thirty-three _more_ people."

"Everyone is so hard on me about this. I said I was sorry," Matt whined to his wife.

Daphne, cradled in his arms, and lovingly patted him on the face, "Well, you have to admit, it wasn't your brightest moment. Really, _I'm_ supposed to be the impulsive one in this family."

Matt, tiring of the abuse, asked, "Where's Peter?"

"He's going to inject some people with the Formula to return their abilities."

Daphne twisted her head, "Isn't that the problem we just solved, except for a few… missteps?" She indicated her limp legs.

"Not everyone," Mohinder explained, "Just Naturals. They're the only ones who can handle abilities. And those who are predisposed to them. Which Peter is very lucky includes me. Speaking of impulsive," he tacked on.

"Are your powers back?" Molly asked.

"Strength, speed, agility, endurance, sight, hearing… all above average."

"But no webbing?" Molly asked.

"Thankfully not. I was never partial to that one."

"Me neither. I still haven't gotten that jacket."

"Molly," Daphne chastised.

Sarcastically, Molly recited, "You're not my real mom… Blah blah blah. We all watch enough TV to know how this conversation goes. I'll be nice."

Daphne mentioned, "I'm Natural. Any chance I can get in on that Formula injection thing? I like walking."

: : :

Peter Petrelli  
Burnt Toast Diner  
Midland, Texas  
October 9, 2006

Illusioning his scar away, Peter walked into the diner. He watched for a moment, noting the portion of the restaurant where the young redheaded waitress was serving and sat himself down in an empty booth in the middle of her section.

"Hiya," she noted in a Texas drawl, holding an order pad and pen, "what can I get for ya?"

"An order of waffles and coffee, please."

Not bothering to write it down, she replied, "Coming right up." She slipped the empty pad into her apron.

Peter took out the Formula over and glanced at it. He then crumbled it up, and beneath the table, he used a ball of radioactive energy to reduce it to dust. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and started to doodle on the place mat.

Charlie returned with his breakfast, asking, "What'cha drawin'? Ooh, looks all science-y."

Peter nodded, "Yeah, it is. Thank you, Charlie." She seemed perplexed that he knew her name until she realized she was wearing a name tag.

"Just let me know when you're ready to pay," she replied, turning away to get out her bill pad out of the apron. When she turned around to give him the bill, he was gone. His placemat was a small pile of charred scraps of paper, his pancakes reduced to a puddle of maple syrup, his coffee cup empty, and a ten-dollar bill was sitting on the edge of the table.

Lynette walked up to her. "Charlie, you're daydreaming again. What's up?"

"You're right about city folk. They _do_ need to slow down." She picked up the money note and handled it to her boss. "This look counterfeit to you?"

Lynette surveyed it. "Nah. Just one of those newfangled tens the government's sending out that won't get to our banks for another six months."

Snatching the bill back, Charlie pointed to the face of Nathan Petrelli on the back, next to the U.S. Treasury Building. "You recognize this guy?"

"No, but I can't keep up with all them politicians. Probably the Secretary of the Treasury. Some guy who won't matter in five years. And, you got a couple of Japanese guys in your section."

Charlie grinned and headed to the table.

Outside the diner, Peter glanced back inside once more. At a table near the window was a man dressed all in black with a trucker's hat concealing his face and a broken analog watch on his wrist. After a moment of deliberation, Peter teleported away.

: : :

Nathan Petrelli  
White House South Lawn  
Washington, D.C.  
September 11, 2011

Though it was only six o'clock in the evening, the sky was dark as night, as the nearer moon completely covered the sun, leaving no corona.

Nathan spoke majestically, "My fellow Americans, it is the ten year anniversary of the World Trade Center attacks. On that day, early in the morning, thousands died, some helping others. Just like today. We were planning on a somber remembrance of those lost a decade ago, but we live in turbulent times and we have a new tragedy to mourn.

"Once again, it feels like the world is ending. We feel helpless. Powerless. But I'm calling you, not just my fellow Americans, but my fellow citizens of the world, to persevere. We survived a time before our abilities and we can do it again."

"Many are fearful for the state of the world. The Earth is cracked and could potentially be rent apart. But I am here to tell you that we can stop it. Us normal human beings. General Donald Kendrick has undertaken a massive project with all the branches of military to create structures that will stop the Earth from reaching a point when it can be broken apart. It won't be cheap. It won't be easy. But we _can_ save our world.

"As for our abilities, we may never get them back. As you probably have heard, the Pinehearst Company was destroyed yesterday, and the plans for the Evolution compound with it. All supplies and backups we can assume are lost.

"But we do not _need_ our abilities. We have grown too used to them. It's time we learned to use our minds and our hearts again. It's time we remembered that there is no 'next stage in evolution,' just adapting to change. The world is in trouble; let us resolve within ourselves to evolve to that challenge. God bless."

: : :

Flint and Meredith  
Primatech Incarceration Facility  
Hartsdale, New York  
September 19, 2011

Flint bounced his one-and-a-half-year-old niece in his arms, eliciting squeaks of joy. "Purdy little thing. She takes after you," he told his sister.

"Thanks, Flint," Meredith noted flatly.

"Hey, Howie," he addressed his brother-in-law, Howard Lemay, "how's it hangin' with you?"

"Quite well," Howard replied, "I've got a daughter to keep me busy and a wife to keep me busy when Savannah's asleep. And a part-time online consulting job when I realize that free time is an illusion."

Flint slipped off the tiny mittens on his niece's tiny hands, telling her, "Show Uncle Flint what you can do."

Savannah Rose shook her hands, creating small firework-like sparkles.

Howard snatched his daughter back and replaced her mittens.

Undaunted, Flint noted, "They fed us grilled chicken sandwiches the other night."

"And?" Meredith baited.

"Darn good," he replied, smiling.

Meredith let out a sigh of relief. "And your ability?"

"Eh, they ain't gonna give it back to me until they figger I'm rehabilitated," he pronounced the last word, adding, "And when the do," he crossed his fingers, "I work for the Company for the rest of my life."

"That's good news, Flint," Meredith pronounced. She checked her watch, "Hey, guys, I gotta go meet Angela. Some important conversation." She leaned over to give her husband and daughter a kiss, "I'll see you at the hotel. Flint, you behave yourself."

Meredith made her way to the medical facility, where she found Angela with her family. She held back, letting the family have a moment.

The Petrelli clan was huddled outside Arthur Petrelli's hospital room. Matriarch Angela stood before the door with her family surrounding her in three groups. Nathan and Tracy stood together, Andrew napping on his mother's shoulder with a thumb in his mouth. Gabriel, with Noah perched on his shoulder, stood hand-in-hand with Elle. Peter and Claire stood close together, watching patiently.

"How's Dad?" Nathan asked.

"Somewhere between a cucumber and a goldfish," Angela noted callously.

"Ma," Nathan chastised.

"I loved your father. I still do, but that doesn't change the fact that he was dangerous. I don't regret what I did. But that's not why I called you together." All ears perked up. "I will be stepping down from the Company effective immediately. Exposure to the Antidote has left me weakened."

Peter took a step forward, "Ma, I…"

Angela shushed her son immediately, laying a hand on his face. "Peter, no, I'm an old woman and honestly I've grown weary after four years at the helm. I'm passing the reins to Nathan."

"Are you a little busy, you know, being President?" Gabriel quipped.

"I'm annexing the Company under government control. Since I'll be publicly abolishing the Department of Special Human Affairs, I'll reroute funding to Primatech."

"The Hartsdale Regional Director will be the Acting Head Director," Angela added.

"I thought we didn't have a Hartsdale Regional Director. _You_ ran New York," Elle pointed out.

"True," Angela replied, turning down the hall where Meredith waited, "That's why I asked you here, Miss Gordon." Meredith emerged from the hallway. "You're being promoted to Hartsdale Director."

"Thank you, ma'am," Meredith replied, taken aback at her new responsibilities, "Um, Howard will be thrilled; he'd love to move back closer to his family."

"I'll still be involved in the Company, but mostly hands-off," Nathan noted.

"I like hands-off," Tracy admitted, eyeing Meredith. "Nathan should probably appoint a liaison," she declared, as if she'd already thought her words through. She turned to her husband, "And now that Andrew's walking, I could use a diversion."

Nathan, blindsided, replied, "Sounds like a plan, Sweetie."

Tracy and Meredith exchanged fake smiles.

"What about Barstow?" Meredith asked.

"Bess has been angling for a promotion for going on a year," Angela noted as way of explanation.

"One more item of business," Nathan interjected, "It concerns the Epidemic. The American people, and the rest of the world, are going to want answers soon."

"Nathan, if you need to expose me…" Peter began.

"No, consider you and your team pardoned. Luckily, the Special Legion did retrieve the bodies of several of your former… _comrades_. We'll be pinning the blame on them."

Peter protested, "I'm not sure I feel right about that. I mean, I hurt a lot of people."

"It was an accident, Pete, though… you're not getting off scot-free. Consider yourself a permanent employee of the Company. You returned the abilities of people on the List, and should any of them want—or need—their abilities removed, you're the only one with the power to do so now that Dad's incapacitated. Plus, there's no telling how long the Antidote will be effective." He added, "Plus your medical background could be of use."

"I want to work with Peter," Claire declared.

Nathan replied, "Claire, you weren't involved."

"Yeah, but I joined up all the same. Plus, I hurt a lot of people too while working with Pinehearst, and I'll like to do some good for once. I'm the only regenerator we know of, and you'll need my blood to heal people. Plus, I've had some time to think. You know how good my G.E.D. scores were. I'm thinking of going into medicine. That kind of thing usually makes parents proud."

"True," Nathan replied, giving his daughter a kiss on the head, "And I know your folks would have been proud of you, too."

He back up to let Meredith embrace Claire.

"What about Matt and Mohinder?" Peter asked.

"I've already spoken with them, and they agreed to their terms of service," Nathan replied.

* * *

The Parkman Residence  
Brooklyn, New York

The Parkmans arrived at their apartment with Micah in tow. As they entered, Micah told Matt, "Thanks, Mr. Parkman, for letting me crash on your couch."

As Micah wandered into the living room, Daphne pulled her husband aside. "I'm a little uncomfortable with him."

"Daphne, I swear, he's a standup kid."

Her face twisted, she replied, "I think that's why. I've never been crazy about standup guys."

"Excuse me."

Huffing, Daphne admitted, "Well, we're married and share a bed and have a kid and are raising a teen, so I had to get over it." She grabbed the lapels of Matt's jacket and pulled him down for a kiss.

From across the room, Molly rolled her eyes and covered Daniella's, whispering to her little sister, "Yeah, you'll never get used that, Dani." Molly then lurched away, groaning.

Matt, concerned, asked, "Molly?"

Rubbing her forehead, Molly explained, "Daniella's manifesting. It's mental, like yours, Dad. More emotional, though, I think."

Micah returned to the room, noting, "My flight to New Orleans is tomorrow morning. Uncle Nathan's sending a car."

"Must be nice being related to the President."

"Sometimes," Micah admitted.

: : :

Monica Dawson  
St. Barbara Cemetery  
New Orleans, Louisiana

Monica, with two bouquets of flowers in her hand, knelt before two headstones. The first was for "Deborah Ashford Dawson; Loving Mother and Child of God; May 28, 1959-August 30, 2005" and the other for "Pauline Gramble Dawson; A Beacon of Freedom and Love; December 28, 1932-September 15, 2009". With tears in her eyes, Monica mouthed a prayer for her mother and grandmother.

Meanwhile, in the Company sedan, Lyle sat in the passenger seat, looking at a family portrait in his wallet. He pulled out his cell and made a call. "Hey, Scrappy, I hear you've joined the family business. Yeah? How's New York? No, Monica and I are still working together…"

: : :

Claire Bennet  
Primatech Research Facility  
Hartsdale, New York

Claire said into her phone, "Look, Runt-boy, I gotta go. Duty calls. Love you, too, Lyle." She hung up.

"Hey, Peter, what's on the schedule for today?"

"Just settling in," Peter replied. Gravely, he said, "Hey, Claire, I need to talk to you about something." He handed her a key. "That is a key to a safety deposit box at King's National Bank on 49th and Rockefeller. Harrison Campbell, our family lawyer, is in possession of the other key, and is instructed, in the event of my death, to provide you with it. Inside the box is the Formula diagram. The box is rigged to explode if it's forcibly removed."

"I thought you destroyed the Formula."

"I memorized it and drew a copy. We have it should we ever need it, but now it can't fall into the wrong hands."

"I got it," Claire slipped the key into her pocket.

There was a knock at the door and Echo DeMille walked in.

"Echo," Claire greeted, surprised. She turned to Peter and directed, "DeMille, D-E-M-I-L-L-E." Peter went to fetch a folder from the file cabinet

"Claire," Echo replied apprehensively, "Um, Primatech promised me safety should I disappear. My ability has returned and I'd like it removed. I understand you can do that?"

Peter finished making a note in the folder. "Yes, we can."

Meanwhile, down the hall, in the Biological Research Division office, Mohinder Suresh laid framed photographs of his parents and Shanti on his new desk. A beautiful Hispanic woman entered.

"Maya," Mohinder greeted, flustered.

"Mohinder," Maya replied, smiling, "they said that I should come by for a blood test?"

"Yes, I'm researching the effect of the Antidote. Did you powers disappear?"

"Temporarily, but unfortunately, they returned. I was yelling at Mila and… They said they have some way of taking them away, but they insisted I have tests first…"

"Before and after the procedure. To compare, yes," Mohinder explained, as he pulled out a syringe kit. "Who's Mila?"

"My daughter."

"Congratulations," Mohinder replied warmly.

Maya looked like she wanted to talk more about her daughter, but noting Mohinder's clinical detachment, she let the matter drop.

Two floors down, Matt Parkman stood in front of a class of a dozen agents, including Daphne, Ryan Covington, Audrey Hanson and Sparrow Redhouse. He began his lesson on gun handling to an attentive class.

In the main hallway, there was a line of framed photographs. The first, labeled "1961", feature four teenagers. The second was from 1975, featuring a group of thirteen adults in their thirties and forties. The third, from 1977, cut the number down to twelve. The next three, from 1989, 1995, and 2001, showed the aging group of twelve. The last photograph, labeled 2011, featured an entirely new set of people: Nathan Petrelli and his wife Tracy in the center; her twin Barbara, in a wheelchair, below them; on the right side were Gabriel and Elle Gray, and Matt Parkman on the end; and on the left, Peter Petrelli, Claire Bennet, and Mohinder Suresh.

: : :

Peter Petrelli  
Primatech Hospital  
Odessa, Texas  
December 22, 2012

Dr. Adrianna Fillman handed Peter Petrelli his newborn daughter. Noticing she was emitting light, she commented, "Looks like she's got bioluminescence."

Peter's face was that of intense trepidation, knowing that glow to be the same glow that overtook him in Kirby Square six years before. Clearing his mind, he froze time and began to formulate a plan. Another chill descended his spine as he felt the bundle wiggle in his arms. "You're a copycat like your Daddy, aren't you? Well, let's get you somewhere safe then. On three: one… two…"

The Primatech Hospital exploded outward in a roaring explosion that drowned out all sound and light, taking out buildings and homes alike for almost a mile around the epicenter of the nuclear blast.

**VOLUME TWO: "****PROGENY"**

: : :

A/N: Michelle Obama got put on Maxim's Hottest Ladies list, just like Tracy. This series truly is prophetic. Also, a male character who can breathe underwater whose name starts with "A"? Look for my ads on late-night TV and call in for your futures. It's only $1.99 a minute.

The eco-green message was completely unintentionally. If this were a real series, I could blame it on NBC's promo chimps.

I ramble a lot below, but think of it as Director's Commentary.

And, just because I'm a horrible bastard, I thought I'd preview the second volume to this series right before I take a break to work in other fandoms and start focusing more on beta-reading.

Now, I never wanted to be one of those authors who asked for reviews, but since this is the finale, I would like to invite you, my readers, to give your feedback. I recently reread all 105 of your reviews and every one made me smile and think.

I am aware that the series didn't end on a bang. It was never meant to. In fact, I originally had a little bit darker of an ending planned, with a few more character dying, the world a little less safe (but still not destroyed), and really no one rising as a true hero. However, one of my favorite parts of writing fiction is that I let my characters grow on their own. Arthur became a real bastard. Angela became fairly neutral, if manipulative. Nathan bucked Arthur's reins. Tracy, pardon the pun, warmed up considerably. I came to favor Peter's rogue team. Claire was more cynical than dark.

Some characters never took off as much as I would have liked, almost all for the same reason: they were a lot of fun to introduce, but unless I could hook them into the main plot, they kind of just flittered off until I threw them back in. For example: Monica and Lyle spent most of the series in their own little mini-adventures, which makes me wish I had the time and inspiration to give them their own _CSI_-type spin-off. And the Powered Legion premise had a lot of untapped potential that it really deserves its own AU spin-off. Not to mention a series about Nathan's entourage a la _West Wing _or Claire's Pinehearst team of bounty hunters. I've mentioned before that both _Lil Heroes_ and _The Company: Origins_ are both series that ought to be written. And frankly, I'm dying to know how this story would turn out if I didn't have to kill Hiro per canon; Ando would have stayed alive and I could have explored him further at Pinehearst. It seems I've done a good job world-building.

You know, if only I were a real writer producing webisodes, then the fanfiction writers of the world could do these series. In fact, if any of you would like to take one on, just ask me for permission. Not _Progeny_; there's a good chance I'll write that one.

Started 3/2/2009. Finished 5/18/2009.


End file.
